LOVED 


UM^SOUTHWORTH 


THE 
UNLOVED  WIFE 

A  NOVEL 


By  MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH 

Author  of  "Ishmael,"    "Self-Raised,"  "The  Hidden  Hand," 
"The  Bride's  Fate,"  "The  Changed  Bride,"  Etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  .-.  NEW  YORK 


Popular    Books 

By  MRS.  E.  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH 

In  Handsome  Cloth  Binding 

Price  60  Cents  per  Volume 


CAPITOLA'S  PERIL 

CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE 

"EM" 

EM'S  HUSBAND 

FOR  WHOSE  SAKE 

ISHMAEL 

LILITH 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE 

THE  CHANGED  BRIDES 

THE  HIDDEN  HAND 

THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE 

SELF-RAISED 

WHY  DID  HE  WED  HER 


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or  will  be  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 

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Copyright     1881  and  1890 
By  ROBERT  BONNER'S  SONS 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 


Printed  by  special  arrangement  with 
STREET  &  SMITH 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    SUDDEN    SUMMONS 

IT  was  a  splendid  spectacle,  that  famous  mas- 
querade ball,  which  was  given  as  the  valedictory  of 
the  old  and  the  salutatory  of  the  new  year,  at  the 
opening  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  seasons  our 
national  capital  had  ever  seen. 

A  great  war  had  ended. 

A  renowned  military  commander  was  at  the  head  of 
our  government,  with  a  council  selected  from  among 
the  most  eminent  statesmen  of  the  nation,  and  a 
diplomatic  corps  of  the  most  distinguished  ministers 
from  foreign  countries. 

Certain  illustrious  personages  of  royal  rank  or  line- 
age— a  Brazilian  emperor,  a  Russian  grand  duke,  and 
a  Bourbon  prince — were  among  the  transient  and 
highly-honored  guests  of  the  city. 

These,  indeed,  were  but  as  blazing  comets  shooting 
swiftly  across  the  social  firmament,  exciting  admira- 
tion and  disturbance  rather  than  giving  real  pleasure 
and  satisfaction. 

Besides  these,  there  were  gathered  at  the  capital 
the  usual  winter  multitude  of  noted  politicians,  finan- 
ciers, authors,  artists,  beaux,  beauties,  leaders  of 
fashion  and  queens  of  society. 

These  might  be  called  the  fixed  stars  of  the  period. 

3 


4  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Conspicuous  among  these  bright  lights  of  the  world 
were  two  who — to  carry  out  our  figure  of  speech — 
might  have  been  called  the  sun  and  the  moon  of  that 
empyrean;  but  they  were  termed — the  one  the  "lion," 
and  the  other  the  "belle"  of  the  season. 

They  were  a  gentleman  and  a  lady;  both  young, 
handsome,  gifted  and  one  wealthy. 

The  name  of  the  first  mentioned  was  Tudor  Here- 
ward.  He  was  an  accomplished  scholar,  an  eloquent 
orator,  a  rising  statesman,  and  although  but  twenty- 
seven  years  of  age,  he  was  already  an  able  party 
leader  in  the  national  House  of  Representatives.  In 
person  he  was  tall,  fair  and  stately,  with  severely  per- 
fect Grecian  features  that  were  scarcely  lighted  by 
the  cool,  steel-blue  eyes,  and  only  slightly  shaded  by 
the  carefully-dressed  light  brown  hair  and  trimly-cut 
mustache. 

His  dress — the  stereotype  suit  of  the  hour — was  al- 
ways faultlessly  neat,  and  even  fastidiously  dainty. 

His  manners  were  reticent,  reserved,  and  very  cold, 
except  when  he  was  warmed  up  in  debate  on  the  floor 
of  the  House  of  Representatives,  when  he  would  often 
seem  to  be  transfigured,  and  inspired  with  a  splendid 
and  burning  eloquence.  Men  predicted  for  him  an 
illustrious  future.  He  was  now,  as  has  been  said,  the 
"lion"  of  the  season. 

The  "belle"  of  the  winter  was  Leda  Von  Kirsch- 
berg,  the  only  child  and  heiress  of  Jacob  Von  Kirsch- 
berg,  head  of  the  great  banking  house  of  that  name. 

She  was  a  beautiful,  stately  blonde,  with  a  bril- 
liantly blooming  complexion,  sparkling,  purplish  blue 
eyes,  a  small  aquiline  nose,  pouting  ruby  lips,  and 
shining,  rippling  auburn  hair. 

Her  dresses  were  the  happiest  "inspirations"  of 
Worth  and  of  Pingen,  and  the  envy  and  despair  of  her 
rivals.  Her  manners  were  at  once  dignified  and  gra- 
cious. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  5 

So  much  for  the  social  status  and  personal  appear- 
ance of  the  "lion"  and  the  "belle"  of  that  resplendent 
scene  and  season. 

To  say  that  nearly  all  the  young  ladies  were  more  or 
less  infatuated  with  the  "lion,"  and  that  quite  all  the 
young  men  were  much  more  than  less  madly  in  love 
with  the  "belle,"  would  be  but  a  faint  statement  of 
the  situation. 

And  that  these  two  pagan  idols  were  sublimely  in- 
different to  their  many  idolaters,  and  were  utterly  de- 
voted to  each  other,  was  too  humiliatingly  apparent 
to  all  to  be  questioned  by  any. 

But  ah!  for  "the  cause  of  true  love" — if  indeed  their 
mutual  hallucination  could  be  so  called — there  was  an 
insurmountable  obstacle  in  the  way  of  its  happy  ter- 
mination in  marriage. 

The  belle  of  the  season  was  a  betrothed  maiden! 

The  fact  was  not  generally  known,  for  it  had  not 
been  ostentatiously  announced  in  the  society  column 
of  the  newspapers,  but  Miss  Von  Kirschberg  was 
really  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Nicholas  Bruyin, 
a  millionaire,  much  richer  and  very  much  older  than 
her  own  father. 

So  you  see! 

The  ancient  bridegroom-expectant  had  not  come 
with  the  widowed  father  and  motherless  daughter  to 
Washington,  so  that  few  in  the  city  knew  of  the  great 
man's  existence,  and  none  knew  of  his  relations  to  the 
beauty  and  heiress. 

Least  of  all  did  Tudor  Hereward,  her  devoted 
knight,  suspect  the  truth.  For  if  he  had  done  so, 
be  sure  that  his  fine  sense  of  honor  would  have  for- 
bidden him  to  trespass  on  the  sacred  rights  of  the  be- 
trothed lover  by  too  marked  attentions  to  the  be- 
trothed maiden. 

No!  Tudor  Hereward  was  ignorant  in  seeking  and 


6  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

innocent  in  winning  the  impassioned  heart  of  Leda 
Von  Kirschberg. 

Why  she  had  concealed  the  fact  of  her  marriage  en- 
gagement, and  why  she  had  encouraged  and  even  in- 
vited the  exclusive  attentions  of  Mr.  Hereward,  is, 
perhaps,  not  difficult  to  understand. 

In  the  first  instance  it  was  probably  nothing  more 
than  vanity  prompted  her  to  seek  to  attract  and  mon- 
opolize the  attentions  of  the  most  brilliant  society 
man  at  the  capital.  Possibly  she  meant  no  harm  at  all, 
and  had  no  ultimate  object  in  view.  But  she  who 
plays  at  "flirting"  plays  with  fire. 

Before  she  was  well  aware  of  the  truth,  she  had  not 
only  captivated  the  fancy  and  imagination  of  the 
famous  young  statesman,  but  she  had  irrevocably  lost 
to  him  her  own  vanity-full  heart! 

But  that  she  had  no  intention  of  giving  him  her 
hand  was  soon  quite  apparent. 

The  night  of  the  last  day  in  the  old  year,  the  night 
of  the  masquerade  ball,  given  by  Senator  S.,  in  his 
splendid  new  mansion  in  the  northwest  quarter  of  the 
city,  was  destined  to  decide  their  fate. 

Miss  Von  Kirschberg  and  Mr.  Tudor  Hereward 
were,  of  course,  among  the  invited  guests. 

He  took  no  character.  It  would  not  have  been  in 
harmony  with  his  proud,  fastidious  nature  to  play 
any  part,  or,  at  least,  any  conspicuous  part  in  such  a 
harlequinade. 

He  merely  covered  his  usual  evening  dress  with  an 
inscrutable  black  domino  of  fine  cashmere,  and  his 
handsome  face  with  a  black  mask  of  fine  velvet. 

She — by  some  subtle  sympathy  divining  his 
thoughts  and  intentions  on  the  subject — also  eschewed 
the  queens,  gipsies,  peasants,  nuns,  and  nights  and 
mornings,  into  which  the  ladies  would  try  to  trans- 
form themselves  for  one  evening  only,  and  over  her 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  7 

dress  she  wore  a  white  silk  domino,  and  over  her  fair 
face  a  white  mask  of  satin  and  lace. 

Neither  had  received  any  intimation  of  the  other's 
disguise,  yet  the  same  subtle  sympathy  which  had 
directed  their  costume  for  the  evening  brought  them 
together  through  the  immense  crowd  of  maskers  that 
filled  all  the  reception-rooms,  dancing-rooms,  supper- 
rooms  and  conservatories,  and  overflowed  into  the 
halls,  balconies,  piazzas,  and  even  into  the  glass- 
roofed  winter  garden  on  the  grounds. 

Through  all  of  these  a  kaleidoscopic  panorama  was 
perpetually  passing. 

Kings,  peasants,  popes,  brigands,  angels,  bayaderes, 
nuns,  sultanas,  judges,  bandits,  chimney  sweeps, 
flower  girls,  beggars,  heathen  gods  and  goddesses, 
nights  and  days,  and  many  other  antagonisms,  jostled 
each  other. 

Truly  Democratic,  Republican  and  Communistic 
conventions  are  rolled  into  one  in  your  large  mas- 
querade ball,  which  is  also  chaotic,  anarchic,  and  an- 
achronistic, since  it  jumbles  together  all  parts  of  the 
world,  all  dates  of  history,  and  all  ranks  of  people. 

Dazzling  light  and  deafening  music  were  streaming 
through  every  window  of  the  crowded  mansion  when 
the  black  domino  passed  out  of  the  conservatory,  en- 
tered the  winter  garden,  and  looked  about  him. 

Here  were  no  lighted  lamps,  for  the  moonshine  pour- 
ing in  through  the  glass  roof  flooded  the  wonderful, 
beautiful  scene  with  a  soft  bright  radiance. 

The  black  domino  stood  peering  down  the  lovely 
walks,  bordered  with  evergreens  and  hardy  roses  in 
full  bloom.  His  eyes  were  searching  for  the  "swan," 
as  he  mentally  called  a  lovely,  white  form  whom  he 
had  been  watching  all  the  evening,  and  whom  he 
had  seen  glide  through  the  crowded  room  out  of  the 
house,  and  in  the  direction  of  the  winter  garden. 

He  had  followed  her  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  for 


8  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

he  could  not  slip  through  a  "jam"  as  easily  as  she  had 
done. 

Now,  in  this  freer  space  and  purer  air,  he  hoped  to 
find  her. 

But  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  one  in  the  garden. 

Nevertheless,  he  walked  down  between  the  hedges 
of  blooming  roses  until  he  saw,  in  a  corner  of  the  rear 
hedge,  an  arbor  of  climbing  roses,  in  the  midst  of 
which  his  eyes  caught  a  gleam  of  silvery  raiment. 

He  hastened  directly  to  the  spot,  and  found  her 
there. 

She  was  reclining  on  the  rustic  seat,  and  had  taken 
off  her  mask  for  air,  revealing  the  fair,  proud  face  of 
Leda  Von  Kirschberg. 

He  had  not  expected  this  revelation  of  her  identity, 
and  he  felt  that  his  presence  at  this  moment  might  be 
considered  an  inexcusable  intrusion  upon  the  privacy 
of  the  lady. 

"Leda,"  he  said,  deprecatingly,  as  he  stood  before 
her  and  removed  his  own  mask,  "please  to  pardon  my 
indiscretion,  but  I  have  been  trying  to  make  an  oppor- 
tunity for  speaking  with  you  all  the  evening — in  fact, 
all  the  day — but  have  not  succeeded  even  in  seeing 
you  until  to-night." 

"Tudor,  sit  down  here  for  a  little  while.  The  rooms 
were  so  warm  and  the  crowds  so  dense  that  I  felt  like 
suffocating,  so  I  came  out  here  to  unmask  and  inhale  a 
breath  of  fresh  air,"  she  said,  as  she  smilingly  made 
room  for  him  beside  her. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  did  so!  I  presumed  to  follow 
you.  Do  you  forgive  me  for  my  presumption?''  he 
inquired,  as  he  bowed  and  took  the  offered  seat. 

"That  depends,"  she  answered,  archly.  "How  could 
you  know  me  to  follow  me?  Or  were  you,  perhaps, 
following  an  unknown  white  domino  that  had  caught 
your  flitting  fancy?" 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  9 

"How  could  I  know  you?"  he  repeated,  gravely,  tak- 
ing her  hand  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  lovely  face — 
How  could  I  know  you?  By  the  same  simple,  univer- 
sal law  of  nature  through  which  I  know  myself — for 
you  are  my  sweeter,  purer,  higher  self!  Leda,  my 
queen,  do  you  imagine  that  any  disguise  could  hide 
you  from  my  knowledge?  My  heart  would  always 
recognize  you>  Leda!" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hereward!"  she  murmured,  in  a  low,  dis- 
tressed tone,  whose  meaning  he  could  not  have  per- 
ceived, for  he  went  on  to  plead: 

"I  have  been  seeking  you  for  many  hours,  my  love, 
my  queen!  Not  to  tell  you  in  set  speech  that  which  my 
whole  life  in  your  dear  presence  has  been  telling  you 
ever  since  we  first  met,  and  in  that  meeting  recognized 
each  other!  Ah,  lady  mine!  Ever  since  that  sacred 
moment  of  meeting  and  mutual  recognition,  I  have 
been  tempted  to  believe  in  the  old  heathen  myth,  that 
man  and  woman  were  originally  one  being;  but  that 
Jove,  in  a  rage,  cleft  them  in  two,  leaving  the  halves 
to  seek  each  other  sorrowing  through  all  the  ages! 
To  seek  in  vain — as  we  see  by  all  the  mismatched 
couples  in  this  lower  world — except  in  such  happy 
cases  as  ours;  for,  sweet  lady,  I  have  found  my  com- 
pletion in  you  and  you  yours  in  me.  And  we  know  it 
now!" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hereward!"  she  moaned,  in  an  almost  in- 
audible tone. 

"Thus,  dear  Leda,  I  have  not  followed  you  here  to 
tell  you  that  which  you  feel  and  know  so  well,  but  only 
to  ask  your  permission  to  speak  at  once  to  your  good 
father  and  invoke  his  blessing  on  our  betrothal.  But 
even  this  I  scarcely  need  to  mention — for  surely  I 
know  I  have  your  sanction  for  it." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hereward!  Pray,  pray  do  not  talk  to  me 
in  this  manner!"  she  moaned,  in  agitation,  as  she  with- 


10  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

drew  her  hand  from  his  fond  clasp  and  covered  her 
white  face. 

He  gazed  on  her  in  surprise  and  uneasiness,  yet 
scarcely  taking  in  the  full  meaning  of  her  words. 

But  why?  Why  may  I  not  speak  to  you  in  this 
way?  Why,  Leda?  Why?"  he  inquired,  trying  to  take 
her  hand  again. 

She  drew  it  away  as  she  faltered: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hereward!  Because — because  we  are  only 
friends!  And  we  can  never  be  more  to  each  other 
than  friends!  Though  I  hope,"  she  added,  pleadingly, 
"that  we  may  always  be  just  such  dear  friends  as  we 
are  and  have  been!  Shall  we  not?"  she  prayed,  drop- 
ping her  hands  and  raising  her  eyes  appealingly  to 
his  stern,  set  look. 

He  met  her  glance,  he  gazed  on  her  white  cheeks  and 
trembling  form,  fixedly,  incisively,  with  incredulous 
amazement  and  indignation  in  every  feature  of  his 
firm,  handsome  face,  for  no  part  of  her  previous  de- 
meanor towards  him  had  prepared  his  mind  for  this 
unexpected  repulse. 

"Miss  Von  Kirschberg,  how  is  this?  It  cannot  be 
that  I  hear  you  aright!"  he  said. 

"Ah,  yes,  you  do,  Mr.  Hereward!  You  hear  me 
aright,"  she  sighed. 

"And  we  can  be  no  more  than  friends?"  he  said, 
drawing  in  a  hard  breath.  "Is  this  true?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Hereward!  It  is  true!  And  it  is 
heart  breaking!"  she  moaned,  in  a  voice  full  of  tears. 

"Leda!  In  the  name  of  Heaven!  what  do  you 
mean?  Explain  yourself,  I  implore  you!"  he  prayed, 
in  an  agony  of  sorrow,  anxiety  and  confusion. 

"I  mean — I  mean — oh,  Tudor!  My  heart  is  broken!" 
And  she  dropped  her  head  on  her  bosom  and  again 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Leda!    Leda!"  he  cried,  with  anguish. 

"Oh,  Tudor!    Our  friendship  has  been  so  precious, 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  11] 

so  delightful  to  me!  And — and — all  our  communion 
has  been  so  improving,  purifying,  elevating  to  my  soul. 
I  am  so  much  less  vain,  selfish  and  frivolous  than 
when  you  first  met  me,  the  spoiled  child  of  fortune. 
Our  precious,  delightful  friendship  has  saved  and  re- 
deemed me!  And — and — I  pray  that  I  may  enjoy  it 
forever.  But — but — it  must  be  only  friendship,"  she 
said,  while  heavy,  sobbing  sighs  shook  her  bosom,  and 
streams  of  tears  forced  themselves  through  the 
slender  fingers  that  covered  her  face. 

"Leda!"  he  exclaimed,  in  bitter  pain,  "you  knew  my 
love,  my  hopes,  my  aspirations!  And  you  led  me  on 
and  on  to  the  brink  of  this  humiliating  overthrow. 
Ah!  how  cruelly  and  bitterly  you  have  deceived  me!" 

"Oh,  do  not  reproach  me!  Do  not  break  a  bruised 
and  aching  heart!  If  I  have  deceived  you  it  was  be- 
cause I  had  first  deceived  myself.  What  knew  I  of  my 
own  untried  nature?  Nothing,  or  next  to  nothing, 
when  we  first  met!" 

"Leda!    Leda!" 

"Let  me  speak!  You  have  charged  me  and  you 
must  hear  me!" 

"Speak,  then!  Defend  your  conduct  if  you  can  do 
it!" 

"We  met  by  chance  in  general  society.  We  did  not 
seek  to  meet.  We  knew  nothing  of  each  other  until 
fate  brought  us  together.  Then  we  were  mutually 
pleased.  Oh,  how  natural!  Our  tastes,  sympathies, 
opinions,  were  in  harmony.  We  seemed  to  belong  to 
each  other.  We  became  better  friends,  more  intimate 
companions.  It  was  inevitable." 

"And  deplorable,"  muttered  Here  ward,  between  his 
set  teeth. 

She  continued: 

"I  found  your  society  so  precious,  improving,  de- 
lightful !  I  saw  no  harm,  no  danger  or  disappointment 
in  the  enjoyment  of  it.  And  so — and  so — I  drifted — 


12 

drifted  into  caring  more  for  you  than  I  had  any  legal 
or  moral  right  to  do!  Ah,  do  not  blame  me  for  de- 
ceiving you,  my  friend!  I  first  so  fatally  deceived 
myself!"  pleaded  the  lady,  in  heart-broken  tones. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  blame  you,  and  I  will  not  do  so — if 
I  can  help  ii  \  But,  Leda,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what 
do  you  mean  by  saying  that  you  have  no  legal  or  moral 
right  to  care  for  me?" 

"As  I  do  and  as  I  must  care,  for  I  cannot  change  my 
heart,  though  I  can  govern  my  conduct." 

"But  you  do  not  answer  me." 

"Oh,  Tudor!  Tudor!  How  shall  I  tell  you  that— 
that — before  I  came  down  here — I  was — was  be- 
trothed to  Mr.  Nicholas  Bruyin,"  she  faltered,  in  an 
almost  expiring  voice,  as  she  raised  her  arm  and  hid 
her  face  behind  the  wide  flowing  sleeve  of  her  domino, 
as  if  shrinking  from  the  eyes  of  her  lover. 

"Mr.  Nicholas  Bruyin?  Son  or  grandson  of  the 
great  financier,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  cold, 
hard  tone. 

"The  'great  financier,'  as  you  call  him,  himself.  He 
has  no  son  or  grandson.  He  is  a  bachelor,"  she  ex- 
plained, in  a  steadier  voice,  for  now  that  she  had  told 
the  worst,  she  was  beginning  to  recover  her  self-com- 
mand. 

"The  great  financier  himself!"  exclaimed  Tudor 
Hereward,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"Yes,"  sighed  Leda. 

"Why,  he  must  be  at  least  seventy  years  of  age!" 

"He  is  seventy-one." 

"Quite  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather." 

"Quite  old  enough." 

"And  this,  then,  is  your  lover,  Miss  Von  Kirsch- 
berg!"  he  said,  in  bitter  irony. 

"My  betrothed  husband,"  amended  the  young  lady. 

Tudor  Hereward  broke  into  another  harsh  laugh. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  13 

Leda  Von  Kirschberg  bowed  her  head  in  humilia- 
tion. 

"And  no  disparity  of  age,  no  uncongeniality  of 
habits,  no  incompatibility  of  mind  should  have  been 
cause  sufficient  to  prevent  the  thought  of  such  un- 
natural and  degrading  betrothal!"  he  said,  in  stern 
condemnation. 

"No,"  she  answered,  sorrowfully.  "No,  and  now  it 
is  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil.  For  with  us  children  of 
the  Fatherland  betrothal  is  held  scarcely  less  sacred 
and  binding  than  marriage  itself.  So,  you  know,  I 
am  compelled  to  marry  the  aged  man." 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg,"  he  said,  coldly, 
as  he  arose  to  leave  the  arbor. 

"Oh,  Tudor!"  she  pleaded,  clasping  her  hands  and 
raising  her  eyes  to  his  face.  "Do  not  go  away  in 
anger!  Do  not  condemn  me  utterly!  Listen  to  me! 
Hear  my  defence  yet  farther!  When  I  was  betrothed 
to  Mr.  Bruyin  I  was  but  a  child,  ignorant  of  myself, 
despite  my  twenty  years.  He  was  my  father's  dearest 
friend  and  our  most  frequent  visitor,  and — " 

"The  richest  as  well  as  the  oldest  and  ugliest  man 
of  your  acquaintance,"  sneered  Tudor  Hereward. 

"He  was  kinder  to  me  than  any  one  else  in  the 
world  except  my  dear  father,"  she  continued,  disre- 
garding his  sarcasm,  or  seeming  to  do  so,  "and  I  was 
grateful  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  was  even  fond  of 
him,  as  children  are  fond  of  an  old  uncle,  or  a  grand- 
father. And  so  to  please  him  and  my  father  I  con- 
sented to  become  his  wife.  How  should  I  have  known 
any  better?" 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  say  good-evening  to  you 
now,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg?"  he  demanded,  icily. 

"No;  for  it  is  not  my  fault  that  we  part  at  all!  And 
not  my  wish  that  we  part  in  this  way!  Oh!  Tudor, 
have  some  consideration  for  me!  I  have  given  you 
all  that  I  could  give.  More,  indeed,  than  I  had  any 


14  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

sort  of  right  to  give.  I  have  given  you  all  my  society 
since  I  have  been  here — all  my  friendship  since  we 
first  met.  Oh!  my  friend,  do  not  part  in  malice  from 
me!  Do  not  quite  abandon  me!  Do  sot,  after  lifting 
me  somewhat  above  self  and  the  world,  do  not  leave 
me  to  sink  again  into  their  perdition!  Though  we 
may  be  no  more  than  friends,  still  let  us  be  friends. 
Oh,  Tudor!  shall  we  not  be  friends  as  we  have  been?'' 

She  was  wringing  her  white  hands  together,  and 
pouring  her  whole  soul  through  the  violet  splendor  of 
her  eyes  that  were  raised  tearfully,  prayerfully  to  his. 

He  was  standing  before  her,  regarding  her  firmly, 
sternly. 

"No,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg,"  he  answered,  coldly, 
"we  can  not  be  friends,  such  as  we  have  been!  There 
is  a  plain  piece  of  folk-lore  among  the  country  people 
of  my  old  home  to  the  effect  that — 'Friendship  some- 
times turns  to  love,  but  love  to  friendship — never!' 
I  believe  the  proverb  to  be  true.  As  for  me,  I  am  too 
much  in  earnest  for  such  trifling.  I  cannot  be  merely 
the  friend  of  the  woman  to  whom  I  have  given  my 
whole  heart.  I  must  be  her  husband,  or  a  stranger  to 
her!  Her  husband,  or  nothing  to  her!" 

"Ah,  Heaven!  Ah,  Heaven!"  moaned  the  lady,  pale 
with  sorrow.  "Even  the  friendship  that  could  be  no 
sin — even  the  friendship  that  might  be  my  salvation  is 
denied  me!  Oh,  why  should  this  be?" 

"Because,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg,"  he  answered,  re- 
lentlessly, "I  do  not  belong  to  this  new  school  of 
sentiment  and  philosophy!  I  am  a  plain  countryman, 
an  old-fashioned  Christian,  one  who  holds  the  mar- 
riage bond  to  be  a  very  sacred  thing,  and  believes 
that  the  wife  has  no  right  to  cultivate  a  sentimental 
friendship  with  any  man  except  her  husband,  for  that 
such  a  deviation  from  her  allegiance  would  be  both 
sinful  and  dangerous." 

"Oh!  would  to  Heaven!"  she  cried,  clasping  her 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  15 

hands  in  the  earnestness  of  her  aspiration,  "would  to 
Heaven  I  might  have  been  your — " 

"Hush,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg!  Do  not  finish  that 
sentence!  It  is  better  left  incomplete!"  he  said,  in 
his  stern  integrity. 

"I  was  only  about  to  add  that  if  I  had  had  the  com- 
plete happiness  of  being  your  wife,  I  should  not  then 
have  needed  the  friendship  of  any  other  human  being! 
I  should  have  been  perfectly  satisfied  with  your  love 
alone!"  And  she  ended  with  a  sobbing  sigh. 

"Then  you  had  better  not  have  said  it!  I  am  sorry 
that  you  have.  Again — good-bye,  Miss  Von  Kirsch- 
berg! I  hope  you  may  be  happy." 

And  he  turned  to  leave  her. 

"Stay!  Oh,  stay!"  she  implored,  laying  her  white 
hand  on  the  sleeve  of  his  domino. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg?"  he 
coldly  inquired. 

"Promise  me  that  you  will  not  let  any  memory  of  me 
mar  your  life — " 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Promise  me,"  she  continued,  "that  you  will  some 
time  marry  and  forget  me!" 

If  this  speech  was  a  ruse  to  get  at  his  present 
thoughts  and  feelings,  it  was  a  vain  one.  If  she  ex- 
pected to  hear  him  protest  that  though  he  left  her 
and  repudiated  her  friendship,  yet  he  should  never 
be  able  to  forget  her,  and  certainly  since  he  could 
not  marry  her  he  should  never  marry  any  one — if  she 
expected  to  hear  him  say  this,  she  was  much  mistaken 
and  deeply  disappointed,  for  he  laughed  lightly  and 
answered : 

"No!  I  shall  cherish  no  morbid  memories  to  mar  the 
life  for  which  I  am  responsible  to  the  Lord.  I  shall 
probably,  in  time,  marry  some  true-hearted  young 
woman,  whom  I  shall  endeavor  to  make  contented. 
Yes,  I  shall  marry,  if  only  to  raise  another  bar  be- 


16  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

tween  myself  and  this  my  first  romance,  and,  I  hope, 
my  last  folly,  upon  which  I  now  turn  my  back  for- 
ever! Once  more,  good-night,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg," 
said  Tudor  Hereward,  as  he  walked  away. 

His  mind  was  full  of  conflicting  emotions — of  wrath 
and  pity — for  the  bowed  and  wretched  woman  he  had 
left  behind,  and  whose  heart,  when  divided  between 
love  and  lucre,  had  given  her  deliberate  choice  to 
lucre. 

He  went  on  through  the  winter  garden,  towards  the 
illuminated  house,  from  which  music  still  pealed,  and 
through  which  crowds  of  gayly  and  fantastically- 
dressed  people  still  passed. 

He  entered  through  the  conservatory,  and  then, 
without  waiting  for  the  supper,  at  which  the  guests 
were  expected  to  unmask,  without  even  taking  leave 
of  his  host  or  hostess — for  not  knowing  what  char- 
acters they  had  assumed  or  where  to  find  them,  he 
could  not  have  done  so — he  left  the  house  and  bent 
his  steps  towards  his  hotel. 

It  was  yet  so  early  that  the  hotel  was  still  open. 

As  he  passed  in  through  the  office  the  clerk  called 
to  him. 

"A  telegram  waiting  for  you  here,  sir." 

Tudor  Hereward  reached  his  hand  for  the  message 
without  the  slightest  misgiving.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  receiving  telegrams,  generally  on  political  affairs. 

He  tore  open  the  envelope  of  this  one,  and  took  it  to 
the  gaslight  over  the  clerk's  desk  and  read  as  follows: 

CLOUD  CLIFFS,  W.  Va.,  9  P.  M.,  Dec.  31st,  18 — . 
To  THE  HON.  TUDOR  HEREWARD, Hotel,  Wash- 
ington City.    Your  father  is  very  ill.    He  begs  you  to 
come  home  at  once.                              LILITH  WYVIL. 

Tudor  Hereward  stood  very  pale  and  still  while  his 
eyes  were  riveted  on  the  lines  before  him. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  IT 

Then  with  a  start  he  rallied  himself  and  went  to  the 
desk  and  wrote  the  following  answer: 

WASHINGTON  CITY,  11.30  P.  M.,  Dec.  31st,  18 — . 
Miss  LILITH  WTVIL,  Cloud  Cliffs,  Frosthill,  W.  Va. 
Yours  just  received.    Will  leave  for  home  by  12  M. 
train.  TUDOR  HEREWARD. 

He  dispatched  this  by  the  messenger  boy,  ordered  a 
carriage  to  be  at  the  door  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  hur- 
ried to  his  room  to  pack  his  valise. 

And  in  less  than  half  an  hour  afterwards  Tudor 
Hereward  was  seated  in  a  Pullman  parlor  car  on  the 
midnight  express  train  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio 
Railroad,  flying  onwards  towards  his  patrimonial 
home  in  the  mountain  regions  of  West  Virginia, 
whither  we  must  precede  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

LILITH 

IT  was  a  very  handsome  chamber,  notwithstanding 
that  the  furniture  was  somewhat  old-fashioned,  worn 
and  faded. 

Purple  damask  curtains  draped  the  four  tall  win- 
dows— two  on  the  east  front,  and  two  on  the  south 
side.  Purple  draperies  canopied  the  rosewood  bed- 
stead, and  covered  the  cushions  of  the  chairs  and 
sofa. 

Turkey  rugs  lay  on  the  polished  yellow  pine  floor 
wherever  they  were  most  useful — before  the  dressing 
bureau  that  stood  between  the  two  front  windows  on 
the  east;  before  the  sofa  that  sat  below  the  side  win- 
dows on  the  south;  before  the  fireplace,  in  which  a  fine 


18  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

hickory  wood  fire  burned,  on  the  west;  and  on  each 
side  of  the  bedstead,  that  stood  with  its  head  to  the 
north. 

And  on  the  bed  lay  a  very  handsome  man,  in  the 
prime  of  life,  though  the  mortal  pallor  of  his  face 
showed  that  he  was  smitten  unto  death;  a  man  who  at 
first  sight  might  have  been  taken  for  Tudor  Hereward, 
so  strong  was  the  resemblance  between  the  two. 

And  Tudor  Hereward  he  was  in  fact — Tudor  Here- 
ward,  Senior. 

He  was  sleeping  now,  and  his  face  wras  shaded  from 
the  fire-light  by  a  tall  purple  screen  that  stood  be- 
tween his  bedstead  and  the  fireplace. 

Before  the  fire,  in  a  deep  easy  chair,  reclined  a 
young  girl,  robed  in  a  white  wrapper. 

Her  lovely  face  and  form,  writh  the  glow  of  the  fire- 
light upon  it,  and  writh  the  background  of  the  purple- 
draped  chair,  throwing  out  in  relief  the  graceful 
white-robed  figure,  made  a  very  beautiful  picture. 

Her  hands  were  clasped  in  her  lap;  her  head  was 
bowed  on  her  bosom;  her  eyelids  drooped  over  the 
dark  eyes  until  their  long,  thick  lashes  lay  like 
shadows  on  the  oval,  white  cheeks.  Her  jet  black  hair, 
escaped  from  its  fastenings,  rippled  down  in  long 
tresses  upon  her  shoulders  and  bosom. 

She  seemed  to  be  sleeping,  but  she  was  not  so,  for 
the  faintest  stir  or  sigh  from  the  man  on  the  bed  in- 
stantly aroused  her. 

Everything  in  the  room  was  motionless,  except  the 
flickering  flames  on  the  hearth  that  sent  up  weird, 
dancing  lights  and  shadows  on  the  whitewashed  wall 
and  purple-draped  windows.  And  all  was  so  silent 
that  the  ticking  of  a  watch  on  the  distant  dressing- 
table  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

"Lilith." 

The  voice  that  came  from  the  weak  man  on  the  bed 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  19 

was  so  faint  that  none  but  the  most  attentive  ear 
could  have  heard  it. 

"Lilith." 

"Yes,  father,"  she  answered,  softly,  as  she  arose 
and  glided  noiselessly  to  his  bedside,  and  took  his 
pallid  hand  in  hers. 

"Have  I  slept  long,  darling?" 

"Since  seven  o'clock.  It  has  been  a  refreshing  sleep, 
I  hope.  You  feel  better?" 

"A  little.    What  o'clock  is  it,  dearest?" 

"It  is  after  five.  It  will  soon  be  light  now.  I  wish 
you  a  Happy  New  Year,  father,"  she  said,  but  her 
voice  faltered  as  she  thought  of  what  the  New  Year 
might  bring  to  them. 

"Yes,  love;  a  Happy  New  Year  for  us  both, 

'Whichever  side  the  grave  for  me 
The  morning  light  shall  break,'  " 

he  answered,  gravely  and  sweetly. 

Lilith  stooped  and  pressed  her  lips  to  his  pallid 
brow.  She  could  scarcely  keep  back  her  tears. 

"You  sent  the  telegram  to  Tudor?" 

"Yes,  father.    I  started  Alick  with  it  to  Frosttiill." 

"Has  any  answer  come?" 

"Yes,  father.  I  told  Alick  to  wait  at  the  office  until 
it  came,  and  then  to  hurry  home  with  it.  Mr.  Here- 
ward  left  by  the  midnight  express  from  Washington, 
and  will  be  here  this  forenoon.  I  have  already  sent 
Stephen  in  the  gig  to  meet  him  at  the  station." 

"He  will  be  here  in  a  few  hours,  then.  Is  everything 
prepared  for  his  arrival?  His  room  aired?  A  fire  kin- 
dled ia  it?  and —  But  of  course,  of  course;  for  yon 
never  forget  nor  neglect  anything,  darling,  least  of  all 
Tudor's  comfort,  or  mine.  Give  me  your  hand,  Lilith, 
sweetest  heart  that  ever  was!"  he  said,  clasping  the 
little  white  hand  that  she  laid  in  his. 


20  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Will  you  take  something  now,  father?  I  have 
some  fresh  port  wine  whey  ready." 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered,  faintly,  for  he  was  al- 
ready fatigued  with  this  brief  talk. 

She  went  and  took  up  a  covered  china  pitcher  from 
the  hearth,  poured  some  of  its  contents  into  a  glass, 
and  brought  it  to  him.  She  slipped  one  hand  under  his 
pillow  to  raise  his  head  a  little  while  she  gave  the 
refreshment. 

After  he  had  taken  sufficient  she  put  away  the  glass 
out  of  sight,  brought  fresh  water  scented  with  laven- 
der, sponged  off  his  face  and  hands,  changed  his  pil- 
lows, and  laid  him  comfortably  to  rest. 

Then  she  moved  noiselessly  about  the  room,  putting 
everything  in  order. 

Finally  she  resumed  her  seat  in  the  easy  chair  be- 
fore the  fire. 

Her  patient  lay  perfectly  quiet,  and  she  thought 
that  he  slept  again.  But  he  had  not  composed  himself 
to  the  rest  she  had  hoped  for  him. 

"Come  sit  by  me  a  little  while,  Lilith,  my  darling," 
he  said. 

She  arose,  and  went  and  sat  on  the  side  of  his  bed. 

"Give  me  your  hand,  my  precious,"  he  said.  And  he 
closely  clasped  the  hand  she  placed  in  his,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  face. 

"My  sweet  child!  My  dear,  good,  faithful  daughter! 
What  should  I  have  done  without  you?  I  pray  our 
Lord  to  bless  you,  my  Lilith,"  he  whispered. 

"Dearest,  best  father  in  this  world,  our  Lord  has 
blessed  me  through  you.  How  much  do  I  not  owe  you? 
How  would  my  seventeen  years  of  life  have  passed  but 
for  you?  My  infancy  in  some  almshouse;  my  child- 
hood and  youth  in  some  hard  taskmaster's  shop  or 
task-mistress'  kitchen.  This  must  have  been  my  fate 
but  for  you,  who  rescued  me  from  it,  and  gave  me  a 
father's  love,  a  happy  home,  and  a  good  education. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  21 

All  and  every  blessing  that  I  enjoy  in  this  world, 
under  the  Divine  Providence,  I  owe  to  you,"  warmly 
responded  the  girl. 

"Hush,  Lilith!  Hush,  my  darling!  Forget  all  that. 
You  are  my  beloved  child." 

"By  charitable  adoption,"  murmured  the  girl. 

"No;  but  by  the  most  sacred  claim  that  a  child  could 
have  upon  a  man,  not  even  except  that  of  birthright. 
And  even  if  this  had  not  been  true — if  this  had  been 
otherwise,  and  instead  of  the  most  sacred  claim  you 
had  upon  my  love  and  care,  you  had  had  none  what- 
ever— still,  Lilith,  still,  my  dearest,  you  have  been  so 
much  to  me — a  loving  child,  a  tender  nurse,  a 
guardian  angel!" 

"Do  not  say  so  of  me,  dear  father — of  such  a  poor 
one  as  I  am." 

"It  is  no  impiety  and  no  exaggeration  to  say  that, 
my  darling,  for  the  greatest  blessing  of  my  life  you  are 
and  have  always  been,  my  precious  one." 

"Your  praises  humble  me,  father,  because  I  feel  so 
unworthy  of  them." 

"Why  so,  in  the  name  of  truth?" 

"I  think  of  my  many  shortcomings — my  failures. 
But  do  not  talk  any  more  now,  dear.  I  can  see  that  it 
tires  you  to  do  so.  Try  to  rest  again." 

"Ah,  Lilith!  there  will  be  time  enough  to  rest — 
afterwards.  It  is  near  seven  o'clock,  is  it  not?" 

"Within  ten  minutes,"  she  replied,  after  looking  at 
her  watch. 

"And  Tudor  will  be  here  in  three  hours." 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  I  told  Stephen  to  put  the  best 
horse  in  the  gig  when  he  went  to  the  station  to  meet 
him." 

"I  shall  not  sleep  until  he  comes.  I  feel  so  anxious 
to  see  him.  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  him." 

"Shall  I  open  the  shutters  now,  dear  father?  Or 
would  you  rather  they  should  remain  closed?" 


22  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Oh,  open  them,  by  all  means,  love!  I  should  like  to 
see  the  sun  rise  once  more." 

"Many  times  more,  dearest  father!  And  this  is  the 
New  Year's  sun,  you  know,"  said  Lilith,  trying  to  com- 
mand her  voice  and  to  speak  cheerfully. 

"The  New  Year's  sun!    So  we  must  greet  it." 

Lilith  arose  and  opened  the  east  windows — which 
were  on  the  side  of  his  bed,  whose  head  was  to  the 
north — and  let  in  the  first  faint  light  of  the  winter  day 
that  was  dawning  redly  above  the  cloud-capped,  snow- 
covered  cliffs  that  shut  in  this  little  valley,  and  tinge- 
ing  its  mists  with  a  roseate  hue. 

Then  she  extinguished  the  night  light,  replenishing 
the  fire,  and  resumed  her  seat  by  the  bed. 

The  patient  had  turned  his  face  to  the  east  and  was 
gazing  out  upon  the  brightening  dawn. 

But  when  the  little  figure  sat  down  beside  him,  he 
turned  his  eyes  upon  her  and  inquired: 

"Lilith,  dear,  have  you  slept  during  the  night?" 

"Oh,  yes,  father!"  cheerfully  answered  the  girl. 

"How  and  where,  I  would  like  to  know,"  he  de- 
manded incredulously. 

"Oh — I — I  slept  very  comfortably,  in  the  easy  chair 
before  the  fire,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly. 

"And  you  started  up  wide  awake  and  came  to  look 
at  me  every  time  I  stirred  in  my  sleep!  I  know  you 
did  just  as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  and  heard  you!  Oh, 
yes,  my  dear,  I  know  just  how  comfortably  you  slept 
,last  night  in  that  arm-chair  before  the  fire!"  he  added, 
in  a  dissatisfied  tone. 

"I  do  not  feel  tired  this  morning,  dear  father,  in- 
deed I  do  not." 

"Lilith,  I  wish  you  would  go  to  your  room  and  lie 
down,  and  send  Nancy  to  me." 

"Dear  father,  Tudor  will  soon  be  here,  and  when  he 
comes  I  will  give  up  my  watch  to  your  son,  but  to  no 
one  except  him." 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  23 

"Ah,  Lilith,  my  faithful  daughter!"  he  murmured, 
with  a  sigh.  "If  your  future  were  but  assured — " 

"Dear  father,  it  is  assured,  being,  like  all  our 
future,  in  the  hands  of  the  Divine  Providence!  You 
know  that,  since  you  it  was  who  taught  me  the  faith!" 

"Ah,  yes!  But  in  times  of  weakness  and  danger  and 
uncertainty,  we  are  so  apt  to  fall  from  the  faith.  The 
Apostle  Paul  feared  that  while  he  preached  to  others 
he  might  be  himself  a  castaway.  Shakespeare's 
heroine  confessed  that  she  could  teach  twenty  what 
were  good  to  be  done,  rather  than  be  one  of  the 
twenty  to  follow  her  owrn  teaching." 

"Dear  father,  are  you  not  talking  too  much?  Had 
you  not  better  rest?" 

"I  cannot  rest,  dear.  I  am  thinking  of  you.  Ah!  if 
I  had  lived  longer — if  I  could  have  lived  to  be  an  old 
man,  I  should  have  made  or  saved  a  fortune  for  you, 
Lilith.  But  now  I  have  nothing  to  leave  you,  my  child, 
because  I  have  nothing — nothing  of  my  own.  I  have 
only  a  life  interest  in  this  estate,  which  came  with  my 
late  wife,  Tudor's  mother,  and  goes  to  him  entire  at 
my  death.  I  have  no  power  even  to  leave  you  a  home, 
my  poor  little  daughter,"  he  added,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"Dearest  dear,"  she  murmured,  laying  her  fresh 
cheek  against  the  wasted  one  of  the  sinking  man,  "do 
not  be  troubled  concerning  me.  I  am  not  a  bit 
troubled  about  myself.  I  have  no  fears  for  the  future 
— none!" 

"No!  Children  have  no  fears  for  the  future  because 
they  have  no  knowledge  of  the  world.  They  have,  in- 
deed, an  unconscious  faith.  Ah,  well!  The  Highest 
has  declared  that  'Unless  ye  become  as  little  children 
ye  shall  not  see  the  Kingdom  of  God.'  And  that  is 
evident,  since  anxious  care,  no  more  than  envy,  hatred 
or  malice,  or  any  other  form  of  selfishness,  can  never 
see  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven." 


84  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Dearest  fattier,  you  are  fast  exhausting  yourself. 
Try  to  get  a  little  rest  before  your  son  arrives." 

"I  cannot.  I  am  thinking  of  you,  I  say.  Lilith! 
there  is  only  one  way  in  which  I  could  leave  you  in 
perfect  peace!  Do  you  know  what  way  that  would 
be?" 

"No,  dear;  but  do  not  be  troubled.    I  am  not." 

"No,  of  course  not.  Children  never  are,  as  I  said  be- 
fore. Lilith!  listen  to  me,  my  darling.  I  could  depart 
in  peace  if  I  could  leave  you — THE  WIFE  OF  MY  SON." 

Lilith  started  suddenly  and  blushed  over  face,  neck 
and  bosom. 

He  was  watching  her  anxiously;  he  saw  her  emo- 
tion, and  gave  it  an  interpretation  favorable  to  his 
wishes.  He  continued,  at  the  risk  of  exhausting  his 
little  remaining  strength: 

"I  believe  that  Tudor  loves  you  and  will  ask  you  to 
marry  him  without  delay,  so  as  to  give  him  the  legal 
and  moral  right  to  protect  you  when  I  shall  have 
passed  away,  and,  oh,  my  dear  child,  I  hope  and  pray 
that  your  answer  may  be  such  as  to  give  him  hap- 
piness and  me  peace." 

Lilith  could  not  speak.  She  dropped  her  head  upon 
her  bosom  and  covered  her  face  with  her  trembling 
hands;  but  the  vivid  blush  that  had  deepened  over 
face,  neck  and  bosom  proved  a  sufficient  answer. 

"Being  Tudor's  father,  I  might  be  thought  too  par- 
tial a  judge;  for  I  think  him  one  of  the  most  excellent 
men  of  the  earth — pure,  true,  wise,  good  and  brave. 
Even  if  he  were  not  my  own  son,  yet  knowing  him  as 
I  do  know  him,  of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  I  should 
prefer  him  to  be  the  husband  of  my  darling  girl." 

"But,  oh,  sir,  I  am  not  worthy — I  am  not  suitable 
in  any  way  to  be  your  son's  wife,"  faltered  the  young 
girl,  in  an  almost  inaudible  voice,  while  she  was  paling, 
flushing  and  trembling  with  uncontrollable  agitation. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  25 

"Not  worthy,  Lilith!  You  not  worthy!"  he  mut- 
tered, gazing  steadily  at  her  trembling  frame. 

"Oh,  no!  no!  no!  I  was  but  a  poor  laboring  man's 
child,  and  but  for  your  charity  I  should  now  be  a 
pauper  or  a  servant.  Your  son  comes  of  one  of  the 
oldest  and  proudest  families  in  the  country,  descended 
through  you  from  the  most  ancient  Saxon  nobles,  and 
through  his  mother  from  an  even  prouder  race,  a 
royal  one — the  old  English  kings.  And  he  has  all  the 
hereditary  pride  of  his  race.  It  would  not  be  fitting — 
he  would  not  think  it  fitting — that  he  should  marry  a 
laborer's  daughter." 

"Hush,  Lilith!  Hush!  You  distress  me,  child.  You 
are  my  daughter.  I  have  adopted  and  brought  you  up. 
For  years  it  has  been  my  dearest  wish  that  you  should 
become  the  wife  of  my  son,  who  loves  and  esteems  you 
as  you  deserve.  You  are  of  all  women  in  the  wrorld  the 
most  worthy  of  him,  as  he  of  all  men  in  the  world  is 
the  most  deserving  of  you.  You  seem  to  have  been 
'made  for  each  other,'  as  the  country  people  say.  To 
be  sure,  my  darling,  you  are  'over  young  to  marry 
yet,'  nor  should  I  wish  you  to  wed  for  three  or  four 
years  to  come  were  I  not  about  to  leave  you  unpro- 
tected in  the  world.  And  so,  my  beloved  child,  be- 
fore I  depart  I  must  see  you  the  happy  wife  of  my 
good  son." 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully  as  he  spoke,  and  at  that 
moment  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  streamed 
through  the  clouds  that  capped  the  cliffs,  glanced 
through  the  east  window,  and  illumined  the  bowed 
head  and  white-robed  form  of  the  girl. 

"It  is  a  good  omen.  All  is  well,"  murmured  Tudor 
Hereward,  as  he  turned  over  and  dropped  into  the  sud- 
den, swoon-like  sleep  of  the  dying. 

After  a  few  minutes  Lilith  arose  softly  and  bent 
over  him. 

"Thank  dear  Heaven,  he  sleeps  well.    And  he  must 


26  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

not  be  awakened  even  for  his  son,"  she  murmured  to 
herself,  as  she  noiselessly  crossed  the  room  and  let 
down  the  purple  curtains,  to  temper  the  bright  sun- 
shine. 

"His  son's  wife!"  she  murmured  softly  to  herself, 
while  a  flitting  blush  played  over  her  lovely  face. 
"His  son's  wife — Tudor's  wife!  Oh,  my  dear  father! 
to  wish  such  happiness  for  me!  A  happiness  I  dare 
not  dream  of — no,  no,  indeed  I  dare  not  dream  of," 
she  added,  hastily,  fearfully,  as  she  pushed  the  black 
curls  away  from  her  forehead,  and,  as  if  to  banish 
dangerous  thought  by  action,  she  crossed  the  room 
and  entered  a  little  dressing-closet,  in  which  sat  a  tall, 
thin,  black  woman  of  about  forty  years  of  age,  clothed 
in  a  gown  of  black  and  white  striped  calico  that  made 
her  seem  even  taller  and  thinner  than  she  was,  and 
in  a  white  turban,  a  small  white  shawl,  and  white 
apron. 

She  laid  down  the  coarse  gray  yarn  stocking  that 
she  had  been  knitting,  and  arose  to  meet  her  young 
mistress. 

"Nancy,"  said  the  latter,  "I  want  you  to  find  Alick 
and  tell  him  to  see  that  the  fire  is  kept  up  in  the  young 
master's  room,  and  everything  is  ready  for  him  there. 
After  that  tell  him  to  go  down  to  the  outer  gate  and 
wait  for  the  carriage  from  the  station,  and  to  stop  it 
there,  lest  the  sound  of  the  wheels  coming  to  the 
house  should  awaken  the  master,  who  is  sleeping 
quietly  at  present  and  must  not  be  disturbed  on  any 
account.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Lilith." 

"And  tell  Gassy  to  have  breakfast  ready  for  the 
young  master  at  a  quarter  past  ten  o'clock.  He  will 
want  a  substantial  meal  after  his  long  night  ride." 

"Yes,  Miss  Lilith." 

"And  you,  Nancy,  after  you  have  delivered  your 
messages,  return  to  this  room  and  keep  a  lookout  for 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  27 

Mr.  Tudor  Hereward's  arrival,  meet  him  yourself  and 
take  him  up  to  his  room,  and  tell  him  that  I  will  notify 
him  as  soon  as  his  father  wakes,  but  that  Major  Here- 
ward  must  not  be  disturbed  until  then." 

"Yes,  Miss  Lilith,  I'll  'tend  to  eberyting.  Don't  you 
be  anxious  nor  likewise  'sturbed  in  your  mind.  And 
now,  honey,  you  ought  to  get  your  breakfas'  an'  go 
right  to  bed.  I  know  as  you  ain't  tuk  a  wink  o'  sleep 
since  ole  niarse  been  sick." 

"Oh,  yes,   I  have,  Nancy." 

"Oh,  sho!  Wot's  shettin'  up  yer  eyes  in  a  arm-chau 
'fo'  de  fire?  Dey's  wide  open  de  minute  ole  niarse 
stirs!  I  knows!  Now  you  g'long  and  get  some  break- 
fas'  and  go  to  sleep.  An'  arter  I  done  my  messidges  I'll 
come  and  sit  here  an'  watch  ole  marse  wid  one  eye, 
an'  listen  fo'  young  marse  wid  t'oder.  Now,  g'long  an' 
do's  I  tell  yer,  honey." 

"I  will,  when  Mr.  Tudor  Hereward  arrives.  Not 
until  then.  I  will  not  give  up  my  post  to  anyone  but 
him.  But  I  thank  you  all  the  same,  Nancy,"  gently 
answered  Lilith,  as  she  softly  closed  the  door  and  re- 
sumed her  seat  beside  the  sinking  man. 

She  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  he  was  sleeping 
heavily.  His  talk  to  her  had  greatly  fatigued  him,  and 
he  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

He  slept  long  and  deeply,  while  she  sat  watching  his 
ebbing  life,  thinking  sorrowfully  of  the  beloved  and 
revered  friend,  the  much  more  than  fond  father,  who 
was  so  soon  to  leave  her,  grieving  for  him,  and  yet — 
though,  indeed, 

"With  a  defeated  joy"— 

dreaming  her  young  dream  of  love,  dreaming  so,  be- 
cause she  could  not  but  dream  in  the  stillness  and 
silence  of  the  chamber. 

So  still  and  silent  was  it  that  her  listening  ears  de- 


28  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

tected  the  first  faint  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels  as 
the  vehicle  drew  up  and  stopped  at  the  outer  gate. 

This  she  knew  heralded  the  arrival  of  Tudor  Here- 
ward — Tudor  Hereward,  the  hero  of  her  childhood's 
reverence  and  of  her  womanhood's  love!  Tudor  Here- 
ward,  destined  within  a  very  few  hours  to  become  her 
husband — if  the  father  should  be  right  in  his  happy 
hope. 


CHAPTER  III 

"A  MOMENT  MORE  AND  THEY  SHALL  MEET" 

LILITH  listened  for  the  coming  step,  but  she  did  not 
hear  it. 

A  little  later  on  she  heard  a  low  tap  at  the  chamber 
door,  so  low  a  tap  that  if  her  ears  had  not  been  so 
acutely  attentive  she  could  not  have  heard  it  at  all. 
She  knew  who  stood  without — the  one  being  on  earth 
whom  she  loved  more  than  all  the  world;  who  field 
in  his  hands  her  destiny;  who,  before  the  day  was 
over,  might  be  her  husband. 

She  arose,  trembling,  flushing  and  paling,  noise- 
lessly crossed  the  room,  and  softly  opened  the  door. 

It  was  as  her  heart  had  divined. 

Tudor  Hereward,  pale,  anxious,  weary,  dusty,  just 
as  he  had  come  off  his  long  night  ride,  stood  before 
her. 

"Lilith!  My  father!  How  is  he?"  he  demanded,  in 
a  low,  hurried  tone;  and  he  waited  her  answer  with 
suspended  breath. 

The  young  girl  crossed  the  threshold  into  the  hall, 
closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  replied,  in  a  whisper: 

"He  is  better  just  now.    He  is  sleeping." 

"What — what  is  the  trouble  now,  Lilith?"  he 
anxiously  inquired. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  29 

"His  old  malady  in  an  aggravated  form,"  sadly  re- 
plied the  girl. 

"When  was  he  stricken  again?" 

"Yesterday  afternoon.  The  doctor  was  sent  for  im- 
mediately, but  he  did  not  reach  the  honse  until  eve- 
ning. As  soon  as  he  had  seen  Major  Hereward  he 
came  out  and  told  me  that  the  case  was  very  serious 
— much  more  serious  than  it  had  ever  been  before. 
He  asked  where  you  were,  and  when  I  told  him  you 
were  in  Washington,  where  you  had  gone  at  the  meet- 
ing of  Congress,  he  said,  of  course,  though  he  had 
forgotten  you  had  to  go,  but  that  you  must  be  sum- 
moned home  at  once.  I  then  sent  a  telegram  to  you," 
Lilith  explained,  in  a  low,  agitated  voice;  and  even 
while  she  spoke,  she  kept  her  hand  on  the  knob  of 
the  door,  and  often  bent  her  ear  to  listen  for  the 
slightest  sound  from  the  sick-room. 

"Has  he  suffered  much?"  sorrowfully  inquired  the 
son. 

"Only  just  at  first;  but  he  rested  quietly  during  the 
night,  and  took  nourishment  this  morning.  He  is 
sleeping  again." 

"Lilith,  my  child,  what  is  the  matter  with  you? 
Your  color  comes  and  goes;  your  frame  shivers  as  with 
a  chill.  Are  you  not  well,  dear?"  he  inquired,  com- 
passionately. 

"Yes,  I  am  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hereward,"  said 
the  young  girl,  striving  to  compose  the  agitation  that 
had  attracted  his  attention.  "And  now,  if  you  please, 
I  must  return  to  Major  Hereward.  I  will  inform  you 
as  soon  as  he  awakes.  You  will  find  everything  ready 
for  you,  and  you  will  excuse  me  from  attendance,  1 
am  sure." 

"Yes,  yes,  dear  child!  Do  not  trouble  yourself 
about  me  more  than  to  have  me  called  when  my  father 
wakes,"  replied  Tudor  Hereward,  as  he  turned  away. 

"He  always  speaks  to  me  as  if  I  were  still  a  little 


SO  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

child.  I  do  not  believe  he  knows  that  I  have  grown  up. 
Oh,  I  am  sure  he  will  think  I  am  too  young  for  him, 
even  if  everything  else  were  fitting.  I  wish  I  were  five 
years  older,"  mused  Lilith,  as  she  re-entered  the  sick 
room  and  resumed  her  watch  at  the  bedside. 

She  looked  at  her  patient,  rejoicing  in  the  fact  that 
he  slept  so  well;  rejoicing  in  the  hope  that  he  would 
awaken  from  his  sleep  refreshed,  and  rally  from  this 
prostration,  as  he  had  rallied  from  so  many  others, 
with  renewed  health  and  strength,  to  go  about  his 
house  and  farm  an  apparently  well  man. 

Certainly  the  family  physician  had  given  no  reason 
for  such  high  hope;  but,  then,  even  doctors  were  some- 
times mistaken,  she  thought. 

So  she  sat  and  watched  her  patient,  hoping  for  his 
recovery,  dreaming  of  his  cherished  desire  that  she 
should  be  the  wife  of  his  son,  and  wondering  if  such 
happiness  could  ever  be  in  store  for  her. 

Every  time  her  patient  stirred  in  sleep  she  would 
gently  pass  her  hand  to  and  fro  over  his  brow  without 
touching  it,  but  with  an  intuitive  mesmeric  motion 
that  soothed  him  into  deeper  slumber. 

Thus  the  hours  passed  while  he  slept  this  profound 
sleep,  angel-guarded. 

Twice  again  Tudor  Hereward  came  to  the  door  and 
tapped  so  softly  that  none  but  Lilith's  fine,  attentive 
ears  could  have  heard  the  sound. 

Each  time  she  arose  and  softly  opened  the  door  to 
tell  him  that  his  father  still  slept  well,  and  that  she 
would  call  him  wrhen  Major  Hereward  should  awake. 

On  the  last  occasion  he  took  her  hand,  drew  her 
away  from  the  door  into  the  hall,  and  whispered, 
earnestly : 

"Lilith,  I  am  told  that  you  have  had  no  broakf  \ 
and  furthermore  that  you  have  taken  neither  food  nor 
rest  since  my  father  was  stricken.  This  must  not  be 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  31 

so,  my  child.  Let  me  relieve  your  watch,  while  you 
go  and  take  necessary  food  and  sleep." 

"When  he  wakes  I  will  do  so,  Mr.  Hereward.  Not 
until  then,  please.  I  could  not.  And  I  do  not  need 
anything,  really.  I  had  some  coffee  during  the  night- 
watch.  Let  me  go  back  to  him  now.  As  soon  as  he 
wakes  I  will  be  sure  to  inform  you,"  she  gently  re- 
plied. 

And  the  son  retired,  and  the  young  nurse  returned 
to  her  post  by  the  bed. 

It  was  late  in  the  short  winter  afternoon  when 
Major  Hereward  awoke,  looking  so  much  refreshed, 
strengthened  and  brightened  that  Lilith's  heart  was 
gladdened  to  behold  him. 

"Has  Tudor  come,  my  dear?"  he  anxiously  inquired. 

"Yes,  father,  some  hours  ago.  And  he  has  break- 
fasted and  rested,  and  is  waiting  anxiously  to  see  you. 
I  am  so  glad  and  so  thankful  that  he  will  see  you 
looking  so  much  better,"  said  Lilith,  as  she  hastened 
to  the  fireplace  and  brought  a  small  bowl  of  beef  tea 
to  the  bedside. 

When  he  had  taken  this  refreshment,  and  she  had 
put  away  the  empty  bowl,  he  said: 

"Send  for  Tudor  to  come  to  me,  my  dear." 

Lilith  went  to  the  adjoining  little  room,  in  which 
Nancy  sat  sewing,  and  dispatched  her  with  the  mes- 
sage. 

A  very  few  minutes  passed  before  Tudor  Hereward 
entered  the  room.  And  as  he  did  so  Lilith  glided 
silently  from  it. 

He  went  directly  up  to  his  father's  bedside,  and  bent 
over  him  with  affectionate  solicitude. 

"I  hope  you  are  feeling  refreshed  by  your  long  sleep, 
dear  sir.  The  news  of  your  sudden  attack  grieved  me 
very  much.  I  came  on  at  once  by  the  first  train  that 
left  Washington  after  your  telegram  reached  me.  I 
arrived  at  half-past  ten.  And  I  am  very  grateful  to 


32  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

find  you  so  very  much  better,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
and  held  his  father's  hand  between  both  of  his  own. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  come,  Tudor.  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you,  indeed,  my  dear  son,"  replied  the 
father,  laying  his  other  hand  upon  the  young  man's 
bent  head. 

"And  you  are  really  much  better  now,  father?" 

"Yes,  I  am  better  just  at  present,  I  thank  Heaven, 
and  the  little  guardian  angel  who  has  nursed  me  so 
tenderly  and  watched  over  me  so  faithfully.  Where 
has  she  gone?"  inquired  Major  Hereward,  looking 
around. 

"If  you  mean  little  Lilith,  the  child  left  the  room  as 
I  entered,"  replied  Tudor  Hereward. 

"That  is  well.  I  am  glad  she  has  withdrawn  for  a 
little  space,  not  only  because  I  wish  her  to  have  some 
relief  from  her  long  watch,  but  also  because  I  wish  to 
talk  of  her  with  you  alone." 

"To  talk  with  me  of  Lilith?"  carelessly  inquired  the 
young  man,  as  he  sank  into  the  arm-chair  at  the  head 
of  the  bed,  as  if  preparing  for  the  tete-a-tete. 

"Yes,  of  my  dear  daughter,  Lilith." 

"What  of  the  child,  sir?" 

"I  am  so  very  anxious  about  her." 

"But  why?  What  ails  her?  She  looks  pale  and  dis- 
turbed, certainly,  but  that  is  from  loss  of  rest,  no 
doubt." 

"Tudor,  you  do  not  understand.  It  is  for  Lilith's 
future  that  I  am  so  anxious.  My  dear  son,  you  must 
know  that  this  last  attack  of  illness  is  the  gravest  I 
have  ever  suffered." 

"That  is  the  doctor's  mistaken  opinion,  sir.  You  are 
really  looking  very  well." 

"However  well  I  may  be  looking  just  at  this  mo- 
ment, Tudor,  I  feel  that  my  mortal  pilgrimage  draws 
to  its  close." 

"I  do  hope  and  I  believe  that  this  is  not  so,  sir." 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  33 

"Never  mind  what  you  hope  and  believe,  Tudor. 
Your  hope  and  belief  will  not  affect  life  and  death. 
And  feeling  so  sure  as  I  do  that  my  departure  is  very 
near  at  hand,  I  have  become  painfully  anxious  con- 
cerning the  future  of  my  dear  daughter,  Lilith." 

"Lilith  again!  I  do  not  admit  the  possibility  that 
you  are  anywhere  near  death,  sir;  but  even  if  such 
were  the  case — which  Heaven  forbid! — why  should 
you  be  troubled  about  the  child,  my  dear  father?" 

"Because  I  have  nothing  to  leave  her;  because  her 
future  may  be  unprovided  for  and  unprotected.  That 
is  the  reason,  Tudor.  And  reason  enough,  I  should 
suppose." 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  you  cannot  think  otherwise  than 
that  I  will  both  provide  for  and  protect  the  child 
whom  you  have  brought  up  and  educated  as  your 
daughter?  Pray  give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  for  even 
if  you  should  be  taken  from  us — which  I  do  not  be- 
lieve likely  to  occur  for  many  long  and  happy  years 
to  come — I  should,  of  course,  consider  it  to  be  my 
bounden  duty  to  provide  for  and  protect  that  child," 
earnestly  responded  the  young  man. 

"Thank  you,  my  good  son.  I  knew,  of  course,  that 
such  would  be  your  disposition,"  replied  Major  Here- 
ward. 

"Then  why  should  you  suffer  a  moment's  dis- 
quietude about  the  child?" 

"Because,  Tudor,  in  the  first  place  Lilith  is  not  a 
child,  but  a  young  woman.  She  was  seventeen  her  last 
birthday." 

"Indeed!  I  had  no  idea  she  was  so  old!  But  what 
has  her  age  to  do  with  the  question  at  issue?" 

"Much — everything.  Lilith  is  a  young,  beautiful 
woman,  therefore  there  is  but  one  way  in  which  you 
can  honorably  protect  her,  and  delicately  provide  for 
her." 


84  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"And  what  way  is  that,  my  dear  father?  I  am  ready 
to  do  anything  you  wish." 

"You  are  the  best  son  in  the  world,  I  do  believe." 

"I  hope  not.  It  would  be  a  bad  showing  for  the 
world  if  I  were  the  best  son  in  it.  But  tell  me  in 
what  way  I  can  properly  take  care  of  Lilith." 

"By  making  her  your  wedded  wife,"  solemnly  re- 
plied Major  Hereward. 

Tudor  Hereward  started  violently,  flushed  crimson, 
as  at  a  blow  or  an  insult,  then  fixed  his  strong,  blue 
eyes  searchingly  upon  the  speaker's  face,  as  if  he 
seriously  doubted  his  father's  sanity. 

"I — beg  your  pardon,  sir;  I — think  I  cannot  have 
understood  you,"  he  said  at  length,  in  perfect  good 
faith,  for  he  really  doubted  his  own  ears. 

"Cannot  have  understood  me,  Tudor?  Why,  I 
speak  plain  English  enough.  Understand  me  now, 
then;  my  son  I  wish  you  to  marry  Lilith  Wyvil." 

The  young  man  stared  more  fixedly  than  ever.  He 
seemed  like  one  struck  speechless. 

"You  are  quite  old  enough  to  marry,"  continued 
Major  Hereward,  seemingly  unconscious  of  his  son's 
amazement.  "You  are  seven  years  older  than  I  was 
when  I  married  your  mother.  And  you  should  have 
married  years  ago  had  your  destined  bride  reached  a 
proper  age.  She  is,  indeed,  still  very  young,  but  girls 
are  married  as  young.  Come,  Tudor,  you  know  what  I 
wish.  Make  my  Lilith  a  happy  wife  before  I  depart 
hence." 

Some  minutes  passed  in  utter  silence. 

"You  do  not  answer  me,  my  son.  Come,  what  do 
you  say?  Will  you  marry  Lilith  Wyvil?"  anxiously 
questioned  Major  Hereward,  after  another  long  pause, 
as  he  turned  a  yearning,  pleading  gaze  upon  the 
troubled  face  of  the  young  man. 

"I  am  surprised  and  perplexed  beyond  all  measure, 
sir,  by  this  most  extraordinary  proposition.  Of  course. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  36 

I  cannot  marry  Lilith.  Wyvil.  I  have  never  even 
thought  of  the  girl  except  as  a  mere  child — the  child 
of  }7our  charity.  As  such,  I  should  always  think  it  my 
duty  to  care  for  her  needs.  But  as  to  making  her 
my  wife! — the  idea  cannot  be  entertained  for  an  in- 
stant. It  is  an  absurdity — an  impossibility!  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  the  girl  is  in  no  way  fitted  to  be- 
come my  wife.  Still,  I  shall  always  look  carefully  to 
her  best  interests,  as  the  child  of  my  father's 
charity " 

"My  charity!"  burst  forth  the  sick  man,  with  a  vehe- 
mence that  must  have  imperilled  his  frail  life.  "For 
the  Lord's  sake,  Tudor  Hereward,  let  us  have  done 
at  once  and  forever  with  that  bragging  lie!" 

"My  dear  father!"  exclaimed  the  amazed  young 
man. 

"Yes,"  continued  Major  Hereward,  almost  indig- 
nantly; "if  there  be  any  question  of  charity  in  our 
relations  with  this  young  girl,  it  certainly  is  not  she 
who  is  the  recipient  of  it;  it  is  I,  and  it  is  you." 

Tudor  Hereward  was  more  than  ever  inclined  to 
fear  that  his  father  was  becoming  delirious.  He 
longed  to  feel  the  patient's  pulse;  he  wished  the  doc- 
tor might  come. 

"Do  you  hear  me,  Tudor?  Do  you  hear  me  define 
our  true  relations  with  Lilith  Wyvil?" 

"I  hear  you,  sir,"  replied  the  young  man  in  a  tone  of 
painful  perplexity.  "I  hear  you,  and  I  should  think 
from  your  words  that  we  had,  in  some  way,  defrauded 
this  child  out  of  her  birthright,  and  that  we  were  liv- 
ing off  the  revenues  of  her  estate,  or  in  some  other 
manner  benefiting  by  her  loss." 

"And  you  are  very  nearly  right;  for  we  have  been 
the  means  of  depriving  Lilith  of  her  birthright.  We 
have  been  enjoying  this  estate  and  all  else  that  we 
possess,  as  you  will  enjoy  your  inheritance,  and  not 
only  your  inheritance,  but  every  good  thing  that  you 


36  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

possess,  or  ever  will  possess,  in  this  world,  and  every 
success  that  you  will  achieve,  every  distinction  that 
you  will  attain,  every  triumph  that  you  conquer,  you 
will  enjoy  at  Lilith's  expense,  and  at  her  great  loss." 

"Father,  your  discourse  becomes  so  serious  as  to  be 
alarming — though  I  really  do  not  understand  it!  Pray 
explain.  Tell  me  this — Has  Lilith  Wyvil  any  sort  of 
claim  upon  this  estate,  which  I  have  been  always  led 
to  believe  to  have  been  in  my  mother's  family  for 
centuries,  and  to  have  come  down  in  a  direct  line  to 
her,  and  from  her  to  us?  If  Lilith  Wyvil  has  any  legal 
right  to  this  estate — though  I  cannot  comprehend  how 
it  is  possible  that  she  should — in  Heaven's  name  let 
her  have  it;  let  her  have  it  unencumbered  by  a  hus- 
band in  my  person!  But  has  the  girl  such  an  unsus- 
pected right?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  You  misinterpret  my  lan- 
guage. I  told  you  we  owe  everything  we  enjoy  to 
Lilith  Wyvil,  since  we  possess  it  at  her  expense,  and 
through  her  great  loss.  And  this  is  the  sacred  truth, 
as  you  will  admit  when  you  shall  have  heard  all  that 
I  have  to  tell  you.  You  owe  Lilith  Wyvil  a  debt  so 
sacred  that  nothing  but  the  gift  of  yourself  can  cancel 
it,"  said  Major  Hereward,  speaking  with  deep 
solemnity. 

"I  confess  that  I  despair  of  comprehending  your 
meaning,  sir!"  said  Tudor  Hereward,  with  a  hopeless 
sigh. 

"Listen  to  me,  then,  and  I  will  make  all  clear  to 
you,"  replied  the  major. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  37 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE   SACRED   DEBT 

"Do  you  remember,  Tudor,  the  circumstances  under 
which  I  first  adopted  Lilith  Wyvil?"  gravely  inquired 
Major  Hereward. 

"Not  perfectly;  I  remember,  of  course — for  I  was  a 
boy  ten  years  old  at  that  time — the  autumn  when  you 
brought  Lilith  home  here,  and  represented  her  as  the 
daughter  of  your  dearest  deceased  friends,"  replied 
the  young  man. 

"And  so  she  was,  the  orphan  child  of  parents  who 
had  won  my  eternal  gratitude  and  friendship  at  a  very 
heavy  cost  to  themselves  and  their  child.  Send  back 
your  thoughts  to  that  eventful  year,  and  tell  me  if 
you  can  recollect  all  the  important  changes  of  that 
time." 

"It  would  be  strange  if  I  could  not,  sir.  My  dear 
mother  died  in  the  early  spring.  You  resigned  from 
the  army  and  took  me  to  the  seaside  in  the  summer, 
so  that  we  both  might  recruit  our  strength." 

"Do  you  recollect  what  happened  to  you  there?" 
solemnly  inquired  the  major. 

"Yes,"  replied  Tudor  Hereward,  with  a  smile. 
"Something  happened  to  me  that  might  have  formed 
the  text  for  a  Sunday-school  sermon  on  disobedience 
to  parents!  Certainly,  I  shall  never  forget  that!  I 
went  out  bathing  against  orders,  for  the  waves  were 
vi'i-y  high  and  the  sea  very  rough.  You  had  refused 
to  allow  me  to  go  in  the  water.  But  when  you  were 
smoking  your  afternoon  cigar  in  the  gentleman's  read- 
ing-room, and  Alick  was  gossiping  with  the  chamber- 
maid, I  found  my  opportunity  and  slipped  away  to 
the  beach  and  went  in  to  bathe.  Almost  immediately 
the  under-current  sucked  me  in,  drew  me  down  and 


38  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

whirled  me  out  to  sea.  Then  commenced  a  death- 
struggle  that  ended  in  suffocation  and  complete  un- 
consciousness. When  I  came  to  life  again — it  might 
have  been  hours,  days  or  weeks  afterwards — I  found 
myself  lying  in  my  bed  at  the  hotel,  and  feeling  as 
if  needles  were  running  through  every  vein  and  artery 
in  my  body  and  piercing  every  nerve.  The  room  was 
full  of  women.  My  memory  is  very  hazy  from  that 
time  until  we  went  home  to  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs." 

"Yes,  for  you  had  a  severe  illness  after  that,"  said 
the  major. 

"But  I  remember  this — hearing  some  of  the  women 
about  me  saying  that  Major  Hereward  had  most 
liberally  rewarded  the  two  men  who  had  brought  me 
to  the  shore,"  added  Tudor  Hereward. 

"Ah,  yes!  I  rewarded  the  two  men  who  brought 
you  in!  But  the  brave  young  fellow  who  really  saved 
your  life  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  own — he  had  passed 
above  all  earthly  reward,"  said  the  major,  with  much 
emotion. 

"I — I — I  never  heard  of  this  before!  Who  was  he?" 
demanded  the  young  man,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

"Joseph  Wyvil,  Lilith's  father." 

"I  knew  nothing  of  this!" 

"No;  and  it  may  seem  strange  to  you  that  you  were 
never  told.  But  the  very  truth  is,  that  the  knowledge 
of  the  tragedy  was  withheld  from  you  at  first  in 
tender  consideration.  You  were  a  very  delicate  and 
sensitive  lad,  and  you  were  also  very  ill.  It  would 
have  excited  and  distressed  you  in  a  perilous  degree 
to  have  been  told  that  the  brave  young  fellow  who 
saved  your  life  had  lost  his  own.  So  it  was  thought 
best  to  keep  the  sorrowful  knowledge  from  you.  I 
always  meant  to  tell  you,  Tudor,  but  I  put  off  the  sad 
task  from  day  to  day.  Afterwards,  when  we  went 
back  to  Cloud  Cliffs,  and  the  scene  changed  and  time 
passed,  the  subject  slowly  sank  into  the  solemn 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  39 

silence  of  a  loving  and  sorrowful  memory.  But  now 
the  time  has  come  when  I  must  tell  you  the  whole 
pathetic  story  of  your  rescue  from  death." 

"Had  you  not  better  defer  this  to  some  future  time, 
my  dear  father?  Will  not  the  subject  agitate  and  ex- 
haust you  too  much?"  inquired  Tudor  Hereward,  who 
had  been  a  deeply  interested  listener  to  his  father's 
revelations,  yet  who  feared  that  the  invalid  was  over- 
tasking himself.  Would  it  not  do  for  to-morrow?" 

"No,  my  son!  The  time  has  now  come  when  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  that  you  should  know  the  whole 
truth.  And  therefore  I  shall  suffer  less  in  telling  the 
story  and  getting  it  off  my  mind  than  I  should  in  keep- 
ing a  longer  silence." 

"Very  well,  my  dear  sir.  Go  on,  if  you  must!  But 
I  beg  you  to  spare  yourself  as  much  as  possible." 

"It  is  necessary  that  I  should  revert  briefly  to  my 
early  life,  Tudor.  You  know  so  little  of  it." 

"I  shall  be  much  pleased  to  know  more  of  it,  sir." 

"But  you  do  know,  I  suppose,  that  my  forefathers 
and  yours  owned  very  large  manors  down  in  the  State 
of  Maryland." 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  with  an  amused  smile, 
"I  have  heard  all  that  from  our  boastful  old  family 
servants,  who  came  with  you  from  Maryland.  They 
boast  that  the  first  Hereward  who  settled  in  Maryland 
used  to  stand  upon  a  very  high  hill  in  the  midst  of 
his  estates,  and  declare  that,  from  that  centre  to  the 
circumference  bounded  by  the  horizon,  all  the  land  in 
sight  was  his  own." 

"Ah,  well!  that  boast  may  or  may  not  have  been  a 
true  one!  But,  at  all  events,  in  many  generations  of 
high  not  to  say  'riotous  living/  all  that  land  gradually 
melted  away  from  the  possession  of  the  Herewards. 
In  my  father's  time  there  was  nothing  left  of  the  old 
manor  but  a  large,  dilapidated  mansion  house,  with  a 
few  acres  of  worn-out  laud,  and  a  few  tumble-down 


40  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

sheds  and  out-houses.  And  these  were  all  heavily 
mortgaged  beyond  hope  of  redemption.  My  father 
struggled  on  to  keep  the  old  homestead  over  our  heads 
as  long  as  my  mother  lived.  She  left  us  when  I  was 
about  fifteen  years  of  age,  having  fallen  a  victim,  as  I 
firmly  believe,  to  constant  anxiety  and  worry  rather 
than  to  disease." 

"I  had  no  idea  that  your  early  life  had  been  so  full 
of  trial,  sir,"  said  the  son,  in  a  sympathetic  tone. 

"Well,  well,  it  is  past.  After  my  mother  left  us, 
there  remained  only  my  father  and  myself,  for  I  had 
neither  sister  nor  brother.  He  ceased  then  to  strive 
against  fate.  He  sold  house,  land,  stock  and  furni- 
ture, parted  with  all  his  possessions,  indeed,  except 
his  family  servants.  He  paid  every  debt  he  owed  in 
the  world.  Then,  taking  his  son  and  his  favorite  serv- 
ants, he  went  to  the  city  of  Richmond  and  took  a 
bookkeeper's  place  in  a  large  mercantile  establish- 
ment. It  was  a  great  fall  for  a  country  gentleman!" 
added  Major  Hereward,  with  a  sigh. 

"And  yet  for  that  I  honor  my  grandfather,  more 
than  I  do  all  the  preceding  Herewards,  who  wasted 
their  substance  in  feasting  and  'riotous  living,'  "  said 
Tudor  Hereward,  bluntly. 

"Yes,  he  lived  and  died  without  a  stain  upon  his 
pure  and  noble  name.  It  was  some  months  after  his 
removal  to  Richmond  in  November,  18 — ,  that  his  old 
and  intimate  friend,  General ,  was  elected  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  In  the  following  March, 
my  father  was  enabled,  through  his  powerful  friend, 
to  gratify  the  ambition  of  my  boyhood,  and  procure 
for  me  an  appointment  as  cadet  at  the  Military 
Academy  at  West  Point.  This,  of  course,  settled  my 
career  in  life." 

"But  when  you  went  to  West  Point  how  fared  my 
grandfather,  bereft  of  home  and  family,  and  tied  down 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  41 

to  a  bookkeeper's  desk  in  the  warehouse  of  a  crowded 
city?"  inquired  Tudor  Hereward,  with  much  interest. 

"I  never  left  him.  Ah!  my  son,  the  change  was  too 
great  for  him.  One  day  he  came  home  from  his  count- 
ing-house, spent  the  evening  with  me  talking  of  my 
future  prospects,  then  rose  to  go  to  his  bedroom, 
dropped  back  into  his  chair  and  passed  away  before 
I  could  spring  to  his  side.  It  was  a  sudden,  painless 
exit.  He  indeed  was  changed  'in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.'  He  knew  not  death." 

"Was  it — apoplexy?"  inquired  Tudor  Hereward,  in 
a  low,  grave  tone. 

"So  the  doctors  said." 

"And  you,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  were  alone  in  the 
world!" 

"Yes,  quite  alone;  and  after  all  remaining  debts 
were  paid  I  was  nearly  out  of  money.  But  I  had  my 
cadetship,  and  so,  after  I  had  settled  my  affairs  in 
Richmond,  I  went  to  West  Point  and  entered  the  Mili- 
tary Academy,  where  constant  occupation  left  me 
little  or  no  time  to  brood  over  family  troubles." 

"You  are  talking  too  long  for  your  strength,  sir. 
You  are  wearying  yourself,"  interrupted  his  son. 

"Yes.  Give  me  that  cordial,  and  I  will  drink  it  and 
rest  for  a  few  moments." 

Tudor  Hereward  poured  out  the  restorative  from 
the  bottle  into  a  glass  and  gave  it  to  the  patient,  who 
immediately  after  drinking  it  dropped  into  the  sud- 
den, swoon-like  sleep  of  exhaustion  which  accom- 
panied his  malady. 

The  son  sat  patiently  watching  the  sleep  of  the 
father  until  an  hour  later,  when  the  latter  awoke 
much  rested,  and  inquired: 

"Where  was  I? — in  my  reminiscences,  I  mean/' 

"At  West  Point,  sir,"  replied  Tudor,  with  a  smile. 

"Ah,  yes!  Well,  at  the  close  of  the  academic  course 
I  graduated  with  some  credit.  Then  the  memory  of 


42  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

my  dear  father  still  befriended  me  at  the  War  Depart- 
ment. I  received  my  lieutenant's  commission,  and,  in- 
stead of  being  sent  to  some  frontier  fort  in  the  far 
West,  I  was  appointed  to  a  regiment  then  going  to 
Fortress  Monroe.  It  was  there  that  I  first  met  Evelyn 
Tudor." 

"My  mother!" 

"Yes,  your  mother.  She  was  the  daughter,  as  you 
know,  and  the  only  surviving  child,  of  Edward  Tudor, 
of  Cloud  Cliffs,  my  father's  dearest  college  friend  and 
my  own  godfather,  for  whom  I  was  named.  She  was 
a  guest  and  relative  of  our  colonel's  wife.  I  met  her 
first  at  a  Christmas  ball;  and  after  that  at  all  the 
social  gatherings  at  the  fort  and  in  the  neighborhood. 
We  were  mutually  pleased  with  each  other,  and  in  a 
short  time  we  became  devotedly  attached  to  one  an- 
other." 

"Oh!  I  can  imagine  that,  sir;  for  I  remember  how 
perfectly  united  you  were  in  heart  and  mind." 

"Yes,  ours  was  the  true  union  that  death  does  not 
sever.  Well,  in  due  time  I  proposed  to  her  and  was  ac- 
cepted. And  not  until  her  uncle,  our  colonel,  sug- 
gested that  marriage  settlements  should  be  drawn  up 
securing  the  whole  of  her  real  and  personal  property 
to  herself  and  to  any  children  that  she  might  have, 
did  I  know  or  even  suspect  that  she  was  an  heiress, 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  with  full  powers  to  dispose 
of  herself  and  her  fortune.  Heaven  knows  it  was  her 
precious  self  and  not  her  fortune  I  coveted.  She  op- 
posed the  settlement  upon  herself.  She  would  hav-j 
given  me  everything;  but  the  colonel  was  firm,  and  so 
was  I.  I  would  not  take  her  fortune.  The  colonel 
sustained  me  in  my  resolution.  We  carried  the  point, 
and  every  penny  of  her  estate  was  settled  upon  her- 
self and  her  prospective  children.  That  is  the  reason, 
Tudor,  why  I  am  at  this  hour  a  very  'poor,'  though 
I  hope  a  very  'honest'  man,  with  nothing  to  leave 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  43 

my  dear  adopted  daughter  but  my  blessing  and  my 
hopes." 

"I  have  said,  sir,  that  I  will  provide  for  her." 

"And  I  have  said  there  is  but  one  way  in  which  you 
can  honorably  do  so.  But  let  that  pass  for  the  present. 
I  must  get  on  with  my  narrative.  We  were  married  in 
the  early  spring.  I  obtained  leave  of  absence  and  went 
on  a  lengthened  bridal  tour.  When  we  returned  to  the 
fort  at  the  end  of  five  weeks,  which  was  also  the  end 
of  my  leave,  I  found  our  regiment  under  orders  to 
Fort  Protection,  in  Arizona.  I  might  have  resigned 
from  the  army  and  settled  on  my  wife's  estate,  as 
many  of  our  friends  advised  me  to  do;  but  I  had  been 
educated  at  the  expense  of  my  country,  and  so  I  felt 
in  honor  bound  to  render  some  service  to  the  country 
in  return.  Or  I  might  have  left  my  wife  in  her  patri- 
monial home  and  gone  alone  with  my  regiment  to  the 
far  southwest;  but  that  plan  she  would  not  agree  to. 
She,  brought  up  in  luxury  as  she  had  been,  did  not 
flinch  from  the  prospective  hardships  of  frontier  camp 
life.  She  thought,  as  I  did,  that  there  could  be  no 
evil  so  great  as  separation." 

"Ah,  yes,  even  in  my  time  I  have  heard  my  mother 
say  that!  'No  evil  so  great  as  separation.'  " 

"In  the  autumn  we  commenced  our  journey  to  the 
frontier,  where  we  at  length  arrived  without  calamity. 
And  then  commenced  for  us  a  life  of  privation  and 
hardship  difficult  for  anyone  in  the  civilized  East  to 
believe  in." 

"I  have  often  heard  my  mother  speak  of  those 
times,  yet  always  as  picturesque  and  rather  pleasant 
memories." 

"Her  sunny  temper  brightened  the  darkest  side  of 
every  event.  But  it  was  hard  on  her.  You  were  born 
at  Fort  Protection,  Arizona.  And  in  the  course  of  the 
next  nine  years,  which  we  spent  from  fort  to  fort  on 
the  Western  frontier,  two  other  boys  and  two  girls 


44  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

were  given  us.  Their  little,  lonely  graves  lie  far 
apart  all  along  the  line  from  Washington  Territory 
to  Lower  California.  Ah,  well!" 

"She  has  met  her  children  again  in  their  heavenly 
mansions,"  whispered  Tudor,  gently,  to  soothe  these 
troubled  memories. 

"Yes,  undoubtedly;  as  her  faith  had  taught  her  to 
hope  and  expect.  It  was  in  the  autumn  of  our  ninth 
year  on  the  frontier,  and  I  had  risen  by  slow  promo- 
tions to  the  rank  of  captain,  which  I  had  held  about 
two  years,  when  I  wras  detached  from  my  ok  "egi- 
ment  and  ordered  to  take  command  of  Fort  Be^ge, 
in  the  northwest  part  nf  Washington  'i>rritory." 

"My  dor  father,"  int_  ~\pted  the  young  man,  "you 
have  now  brought  your  personal  history  down  to  a 
point  from  which  I  can  remember  everything  of  im- 
portance that  passed  under  my  own  eyes." 

"Very  well,  Tudor.  Do  you  remember  our  journey 
that  severe  winter?" 

"I  should  think  so.  It  is  the  first  very  distinct 
memory  that  I  have.  Our  life  at  Fort  Protection  was 
so  monotonous  that  its  picture  hangs  on  the  walls  of 
my  memory,  a  mere  haze  of  forts,  cypress  swamps, 
wigwams,  Indians,  soldiers  and  venomous  reptiles! 
But  that  long  march  from  California  to  Washington 
Territory!  I  remember  that  we  suffered  from  cold, 
and  that  the  wagons  were  often  blockaded  by  snow. 
I  remember  that  at  last,  when  we  reached  Fort  Storm, 
the  buildings  were  half  buried  in  snow.  And  even  to 
this  day  my  ideas  of  the  Arctic  regions  are  based 
upon  my  memory  of  that  winter  in  Washington  Ter- 
ritory." 

"Ah,  yes!  It  was  during  that  terrible  winter  in  that 
terrible  climate  your  mother's  health  broke  down.  Our 
surgeon  declared  that  unless  she  should  be  taken  to  a 
warmer  climate  she  must  soon  and  surely  die.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  nine  years  of  hard  service,  I 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  45 

applied  for  leave  of  absence  and  obtained  it.  Do  you 
remember  our  journey  across  the  Rocky  Mountains?" 

"Perfectly.  We  set  out  in  March.  It  was  a  harder 
journey  than  the  one  in  the  autumn.  We  were  more 
frequently  blockaded  with  snow.  We  melted  some  of 
it  to  get  water  for  our  horses  and  mules,  and  for  our 
own  tea  and  coffee  as  well." 

"Yes,  it  was  a  hard  journey  as  well  as  a  long  one  for 
her!  It  was  in  the  latter  part  of  April  that  we  reached 
this  place,  her  old  home,  where  we  received  the  warm- 
est of  warm  welcomes  from  the  old  servants  who  had 
kept  the  house  in  order  during  our  long  absence,  and 
from  old  friends  and  neighbors  who  flocked  to  see  her. 
The  country  was  looking  beautiful  in  that  last  week  in 
April.  All  the  fruit  trees  and  bushes  were  in  full 
blossom,  very  refreshing  to  see  after  our  wintry 
journey." 

"I  remember  my  delight  to  be  at  home,  and  how 
much  better  she  grew  in  her  dear  native  air.  She  used 
to  take  me  out  with  her  in  her  pony  carriage.  That 
month  of  May  which  followed  our  arrival  was  the 
pleasantest  reminiscence  of  my  boyhood." 

"But  it  was  short.  Her  improvement  was  deceptive. 
One  happy  month  in  her  childhood's  home  and  then  a 
fatal  relapse,  a  rapid  decline,  and  an  easy  departure*!" 

"I  remember!  I  remember!"  murmured  the  young 
man,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"You  had  been  the  darling  of  her  soul,  her  only  sur- 
viving child.  You  had  shown  symptoms  of  the  same 
hereditary  malady  which  had  been  so  fatal  to  herself 
and  to  both  her  parents.  In  her  anxiety  for  your 
future  she  made  me  promise  to  resign  from  the  army 
and  to  turn  my  whole  attention  to  agricultural  life, 
and  to  the  training  and  education  of  our  son." 

"And  when  her  love  for  me  thus  consigned  me  to 
your  charge,  her  love  for  you,  sir,  inspired  her  with 
many  a  serious  talk  to  me.  She  made  me  promise  that 


46  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

my  very  first  consideration,  after  my  duty  to  our  Lord, 
should  always  be  my  duty  to  you.  That  your  will 
should  always  be  my  law.  I  hope  that  I  have  kept 
my  promise,  sir!" 

"You  have!  You  have,  Tudor!  up  to  this  present 
day.  And  I  have  kept  mine.  Immediately  after  my 
wife's  funeral,  I  resigned  from  the  army — thinking,  in- 
deed, that  my  nine  years  of  very  hard  service  and 
great  sacrifice  had  entitled  me  to  release.  Then,  to 
get  up  your  strength,  I  took  you  to  a  small,  quiet 
place  on  the  coast  of  New  Jersey.  And  there  that 
sacred  debt  was  incurred  which  you  can  only  cancel 
by  the  gift  of  yourself!" 

"Ah!  yes!  tell  me  how  that  was  done." 

"We  had  been  at  the  Look-Out  House  on  the  beach 
for  some  weeks.  It  was  a  blazing  hot  day  near  the  last 
of  July — the  hottest  day  of  the  whole  season.  Every- 
body was  indoors,  keeping  in  the  shade.  I  was  loun- 
ging in  the  reading-room,  the'coolest  room  in  the  hotel, 
when  I  missed  you.  I  do  not  know  how  long  you  had 
been  away;  but  I  remember  that  I  had  not  seen  you  for 
an  hour.  I  always  dreaded  your  attraction  to  the  sea. 
So  as  soon  as  I  discovered  that  you  were  nowhere 
about  the  hotel,  I  hastened  down  to  the  sands,  and 
went  to  the  bathing-machine  we  were  in  the  habit  of 
using  and  where  I  expected  to  find  you.  And  now, 
Tudor,  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you  happened  all  in  a 
minute." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"As  I  neared  the  spot,  I  saw  a  number  of  people 
running  wildly  in  the  same  direction,  and  I  heard  out- 
cries, all  to  the  effect  that  a  boy  while  he  was  bathing 
had  been  drawn  down  by  the  under-current  and 
carried  out  to  sea  and  was  drowning.  And  at  the 
same  instant  I  saw  a  young  laborer,  who  was  at  work 
near  by  under  the  burning  sun,  tear  off  his  shirt,  and 
all  heated  and  perspiring  as  he  was,  strike  right  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  4T 

left,  cleaving  his  way  through  the  panic-stricken 
crowd,  fling  himself  into  the  sea  and  swim  lustily 
for  the  spot  where  the  last  glimpse  of  the  drowning 
boy  had  been  seen!  He  dived  and  rose  again,  bring- 
ing the  insensible  boy  to  the  surface  amid  the  d  -afen- 
ing  cheers  and  huzzas  of  the  crowd  on  the  bf  ac1: !  He 
swam  laboriously  towards  the  shore,  bear^n?  the  in- 
sensible body  of  the  lad.  As  he  neared  U  •  n;l.i 
everyone  saw  his  failing  condition,  and  t---  men 
waded  out  to  meet  him.  As  with  the  last  effort  of 
failing  life,  he  lifted  the  boy  and  flung  him  into  the 
outstretched  arms  of  the  men  who  dexterously  caught 
him,  and  then  the  brave  fellow  sank — sank  never  to 
rise  again!" 

The  major,  much  affected  by  this  reminiscence,  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands. 

Tudor  sighed  in  sympathy  as  he  inquired: 

"How  could  this  have  happened  that  the  strong 
young  swimmer  went  down  to  death  in  this  way?" 

"The  brave  fellow  had  been  working  all  day  in  the 
hot  sun.  He  was  therefore  very  much  over-heated 
wrhen  he  threw  himself  into  the  water  to  rescue  a  child 
from  drowning.  It  was  supposed  that  he  was  seized 
with  cramp  at  the  moment  he  threw  the  boy  to  the 
two  men  who  came  out  to  meet  him.  And  the  instant 
in  which  he  sank  he  was  sucked  in  by  the  under-cur- 
rent and  whirled  out  to  sea.  All  this  that  I  have 
taken  so  long  to  tell  you  happened  in  a  few  seconds, 
as  I  came  up  to  the  beach." 

"Was  no  effort  made  to  save  him?" 

"Yes,  every  possible  effort.  You  may  be  sure,  for 
one,  that  my  coat  was  off  in  an  instant,  and  I  was  in 
the  sea,  swimming  to  the  rescue  of  the  gallant  fellow 
who  had  saved  the  life  of  my  boy,  and  leaving  that 
half-drowned  boy  to  the  care  of  the  experienced  men 
who  had  brought  him  in.  Other  men,  also  fired  to  en- 
thusiasm by  WyviPs  example,  plunged  into  the  sea 


38  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

and  swam  to  his  rescue,  and  boats  were  taken  out 
to  watch  for  his  rising,  but  all  in  vain.  Even  when 
so  much  time  had  passed  that  all  hope  of  saving  his 
life  was  gone,  we  did  not,  could  not  leave  the  spot, 
but  continued  on  the  beach,  watching,  hoping,  and  try- 
ing to  recover  his  body,  until  night  fell  and  darkness 
covered  the  sea." 

"Was  his  body  never  found?" 

"Not  that  night.  Indeed,  all  the  'longshoremen  told 
us  that  it  could  not  be  recovered  until  the  tide  should 
turn,  when  it  might  be  washed  ashore.  After  leaving 
the  beach  I  went  back  to  the  hotel  to  look  after  my 
son.  I  found  you  comfortably  sleeping  in  your  own 
bed,  carefully  watched  over  by  Nancy  and  a  half  a 
roomful  of  sympathizing  women.  You  seemed  to  be 
doing  well  then.  You  were  saved!" 

"But  at  what  a  costly  price!  A  heroes  life  for  a 
child's!"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 

"And  a  husband's  and  a  father's  life  as  well, 
Tudor." 

"A  woeful  thought!" 

"Yes,  it  was.  I  could  not  rest  for  a  moment.  After 
looking  at  you  for  a  few  minutes,  I  left  you  again  in 
charge  of  Nancy,  and  went  out  to  inquire  concerning 
the  family  and  friends  of  the  young  hero,  or  if  he 
had  any,  I  learned  that  he  was  an  Englishman, 
lately  arrived  in  the  country  with  his  young  wife. 
That  they  occupied  a  small  cottage,  with  a  garden,  at 
a  village  about  three  miles  back  from  the  coast.  That 
they  had  no  relations  in  this  country,  and  none  in 
England  that  any  of  their  neighbors  had  ever  heard 
them  speak  of.  That  they  were  members  of  St.  Luke's 
Episcopal  Church,  at  which  many  of  the  seaside 
visitors  attended  divine  service  on  Sundays.  Lastly, 
that  no  one  had  gone  to  her  to  break  the  news  of  her 
awful  bereavement." 

"It  would  have  required  great  nerve  to  perform  that 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  49 

sorrowful  duty/'  said  Tudor  Hereward,  with  a  deep 
sigh. 

"Yes!  more  nerve  than  I  could  command  at  that 
hour.    I  therefore  went  to  see  the  Kev.  Mr.  Kerr,  the 
Rector  of  St.  Luke's,  at  his  rectory,  next  to  the  church. 
I  found  him  in  his  study.    He  had  heard  of  the  catas- 
trophe.   And  when  I  told  him  that  the  widow  knew 
nothing  of  her  terrible  loss,  and  that  I  feared  some  in- 
judicious person  might  give  her  a  dangerous  or  even 
fatal  shock  by  telling  the  dreadful  news  too  suddenly; 
that  I  myself  would  go  to  her,  but  I  was  a  perfect 
stranger — Mr.  Kerr  anticipated  the  favor  I  was  about 
to  beg  of  him  by  saying  that  he  himself  would  go  to 
her  at  once,  as  she  was  one  of  his  own  flock.    Then 
I  begged  him  to  assure  her  of  my  profound  sorrow 
for  her  loss,  and  of  my  earnest  desire  to  comfort  and 
assist  her  to  the  very  utmost  of  my  power,  and  to  ask 
her  permission  for  me  to  see  her    in    the    morning. 
The   rector   promised   all   I    wished,    and   rang   and 
ordered  his  gig.    It  was  late  when  I  got  back  to  the 
hotel.     I    went  to  bed,  but  could  not  sleep    at    all. 
With  the  earliest  dawn  of  day  I  was  up  and  out  on 
the  beach,  where  the  first  news  that  met  me  was  that 
the  body  of  the  young  hero  had  been  thrown  up  by 
the  sea  during  the  night,  and  now  lay  on  the  beach 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  coroner,  who  had  been 
summoned.    Some  one  had  covered  the  body  over  with 
a  piece  of  sail-cloth,  and  the  by-standers  would  have 
uncovered  it  for  my  view,  but  I  turned  away;  I  could 
not  look  upon  the  dead  face  then.    I  got  back  to  the 
hotel  by  sunrise,  saw  you  still  sleeping  quietly;  gave 
some  directions  for  your  treatment  to  Nancy;  drank  a 
single  cup  of  very  strong  coffee;  engaged  a  carriage 
and  drove  to  the  rectory;  found  Mr.  Kerr  at  breakfast 
and  waited  until  he  got  through.    As  soon  as  he  came 
to  me  in  the  study,  and  heard  from  me  that  the  body 
of  young  Wyvil  had  been  recovered,    and   that    the 


50  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

fishermen  would  bear  it  home  to  the  widow  as  soon 
as  the  inquest  should  be  over,  he  again  forestalled 
my  request  by  offering  to  go  with  me  to  the  widow 
to  prepare  her  against  the  shock.  You  know,  Tudor, 
that  I  was  most  anxious  to  be  useful  to  her." 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!  yes!" 

"Half  an  hour  after  we  were  seated  together  in  the 
carriage,  bowling  rapidly  on  to  Seawood,  the  village 
where  she  lived.  During  the  drive  the  rector  told  me 
how  he  had  communicated  to  the  young  widow  the 
news  of  her  awful  bereavement.  He  had  found  her 
waiting  for  her  husband's  return  from  his  day's  work, 
and  wondering  what  had  kept  him  away  so  late.  But 
she  was  not  alarmed  at  his  absence,  nor  the  least  sur- 
prised at  the  rector's  visit,  for  he  had  once  before 
made  a  pastoral  call  in  the  evening  when  he  knew  that 
her  husband  would  be  home.  And  even  then  she  re- 
ceived her  pastor  with  an  apology  for  'Joseph's  ab- 
sence,' saying  that  she  expected  him  every  moment, 
however. 

"Oh!  it  was  dreadful,  yes,  dreadful,  Tudor — dread- 
ful for  the  kind-hearted  rector  to  have  to  tell  that 
child-wife  the  tidings  that  he  told  her  as  tenderly  as 
he  could — that  her  husband  would  return  no  more 
alive,"  sighed  Major  Hereward.  And  then  he  remained 
silent  so  long  that  his  son  inquired: 

"And  how  did  she  bear  the  terrible  stroke?" 

"At  first,  the  rector  said,  she  seemed  stunned,  and 
stared  stupidly  in  his  face.  But  when  she  realized  the 
awful  truth  she  fell  into  the  most  violent  paroxysms  of 
grief.  All  his  efforts  to  comfort  or  to  control  her  were 
utterly  fruitless.  He  then  went  out  and  called  in  her 
nearest  neighbors,  and  after  doing  all  that  he  could  in 
the  case  he  left  her  in  their  charge  and  returned 
home." 

"Did  she  rally  from  that  stroke?" 

"Yes,  temporarily.  Not  then,  however.    By  the  time 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  51 

the  rector  bad  finished  the  account  he  was  giving  me 
the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  widow's  cottage.  I 
then  asked  Mr.  Kerr  if  he  had  delivered  my  message  to 
her,  and  if  he  had  prepared  her  to  expect  my  visit  this 
morning.  He  assured  me  that  he  had  done  so  as  well 
as  he  could  under  the  circumstances.  Then  we  en- 
tered the  cottage — a  neat,  little,  wrhite,  framed  house 
of  one  story,  surrounded  by  a  pretty  garden.  We 
found  the  young  widow  in  the  prim,  little  front  sitting- 
room,  which  was  half-filled  with  condoling  neighbors. 
The  first  glance  at  her  showed  me  a  fair  young  crea- 
ture, who  seemed  not  twenty  years  of  age,  and  who 
was  shortly  to  become  a  mother.  Her  violent 
paroxysms  of  grief  had  exhausted  her,  and  she  sat  in 
her  arm-chair,  white,  faint,  dazed — in  an  utter  col- 
lapse of  despair." 

"And  all  for  my  little  life!" 

"It  could  not  be  helped.  Mr.  Kerr  took  me  up  to 
her  and  introduced  me.  I  could  not  speak  at  first.  I 
could  only  take  the  pale  hand  she  silently  offered  me 
and  hold  it  tenderly  between  my  own,  while  Mr.  Kerr 
told  her  all  that  I  myself  would  have  told,  could  I 
have  commanded  my  voice,  how  the  body  of  her  hus- 
band had  been  found  at  dawn,  and  how  the  bearers 
were  bringing  it  home.  And  how  anxious  I  was  to 
serve  her  in  any  and  every  way  to  the  utmost  extent 
of  my  power.  She  did  not  seem  to  care,  or  even  to 
hear,  what  tLe  minister  said,  except  when  he  referred 
to  the  coming  of  the  body.  Then  she  lifted  herself 
from  her  chair,  and  holding  by  the  arms,  bent  eagerly 
forward  looking  through  the  door  at  a  little  proces- 
sion that  was  approaching  the  house.  In  another 
minute  the  bearers  bore  the  body  in  at  the  door,  and 
placed  it  on  its  bier  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Tudor, 
even  at  this  distant  time  I  cannot  bear  to  recall  the 
scene  that  followed!  Give  me  a  little  more  of  that 
cordial." 


52  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

The  young  man  filled  a  wineglass  half  full  of  the 
restorative,  and  gave  it  to  his  father.  When  the  latter 
had  drank  it  and  returned  the  glass  he  resumed  his 
narrative: 

"That  poor  little  child-widow,  so  awfully  bereaved, 
so  soon  to  be  a  mother,  had  no  self-control  whatever. 
At  the  sight  of  her  husband's  remains  she  fell  again 
into  the  most  violent  paroxysms  of  grief  and  despair, 
that  all  our  endeavors  failed  to  quiet.  She  had  at 
length  to  be  carried  by  the  women  to  her  bed  in  the 
adjoining  room.  Then  I  went  up  to  the  bier  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  to  look  on  the  face  of  him 
who  had  saved  my  child  at  the  cost  of  his  life.  Some 
good  people  at  the  hotel  had  seen  to  it  that  the  form 
was  dressed  in  a  neat  suit  of  clothes,  and  that  the  dark 
curling  hair  and  beard  were  carefully  combed  and 
brushed.  How  handsome  was  the  still  face!  How 
peaceful  the  whole  aspect!  In  his  appearance  there 
was  no  sign  of  a  violent  death — no  discoloration,  no 
distortion,  as  is  often  the  case  with  the  drowned ;  but 
a  most  delicate  pallor  and  a  most  serene  repose.  1 
turned  away  to  leave  the  house.  I  left  a  sum  of 
money  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  neighbors  for  the 
immediate  needs  of  the  young  widow,  and  a  message 
to  the  effect  that  I  should  make  her  future  welfare  and 
that  of  her  coming  child  my  own  especial  care  hence- 
forth. And  that  I  should  return  to  see  her  very  soon. 
All  this  was  no  more  than  my  bounden  duty,  Tudor." 

"Not  any  more." 

"I  re-entered  the  carriage  with  my  companion  and 
drove  back  to  the  rectory,  where  Mr.  Kerr  got  out,  and 
thenc'e  to  the  hotel,  where  I  dismissed  the  carriage. 
But  I  must  cut  short  these  sad  details.  I  took  full 
charge  of  the  funeral  arrangements.  Two  days  later 
the  body  of  the  young  hero  was  conveyed  to  St. 
Luke's  Cemetery,  followed  by  the  largest  procession 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  53 

that  had  ever  been  seen  in  Seawood,  and  there  laid 
in  its  last  low  resting-place." 

"And — the  young  widow?" 

"The  terrible  anguish  and  excitement  she  had  suf- 
fered produced  a  disastrous  effect  upon  her.  She  was 
prematurely  confined  and  became  the  mother  of  a 
very  fragile  and  delicate  girl  baby.  But  she  never 
rallied  from  her  illness.  She  sank  surely,  though 
slowly.  It  was  on  Monday  morning,  just  one  week 
from  the  day  on  which  the  brave  young  fellow  had 
lost  his  life  in  saving  that  of  my  boy,  and  I  was 
anxiously  watching  beside  your  sick-bed,  Tudor,  when 
I  received  a  visit  from  the  rector.  He  had  come  to 
ask  me  to  go  with  him  to  see  the  young  widow,  wha 
was  in  a  dying  condition  and  w?ho  had  asked  to  see 
me.  I  went  with  him  immediately.  When  we  reached 
the  cottage  and  entered  the  sick-room,  on  the  very 
first  glance  at  the  young  creature  in  the  bed,  I  saw 
death  in  her  pallid  face,  hollow  cheeks  and  sunken 
eyes." 

Tudor  Hereward  moaned. 

"Yet  she  smiled  brightly  when  I  approached  the  bed 
and  bent  over  her — speechless  as  upon  the  first  awful 
occasion  of  meeting  her.  I  could  not  speak.  She  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  babe  that  was  sleeping  by  her  side 
and  looked  up  into  my  face  with  a  yearning,  pleading, 
prayerful  gaze  that  was  more  expressive,  more  elo- 
quent and  overpowering  than  any  words  could  have 
been.  Then  I  took  her  hand.  My  tongue  was  loosened, 
and  in  a  broken  voice,  and  with  tears  that  could  not  be 
repressed,  I  told  her  that  the  child,  who  had  been  or- 
phaned for  my  child's  sake,  should  find  in  me  the  most 
devoted  father;  that  I  would  adopt,  rear,  educate,  and 
provide  for  her,  as  for  my  own  only  daughter — for  I 
had  no  other.  All  this  I  promised  Elizabeth  Wyvil, 
and  I  sealed  the  promise  with  the  most  solemn  oath. 
She  was  so  low  that  I  feared  she  did  not  hear  me.  I 


5*  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

stooped  and  asked  her,  if  she  understood  my  promise, 
to  press  the  hand  that  I  laid  in  hers.  Her  pale  fingers 
closed  on  mine.  She  looked  up,  smiled,  and  passed 
away — so  peacefully  that  I  should  not  have  known 
she  was  gone  had  not  the  old  nurse  risen  and  drawn 
the  sheet  over  the  vacant  face.  I  think  that,  know- 
ing her  babe  was  well  taken  care  of,  she  was  happy  to 
depart  and  be  with  him." 

"Heaven  and  earth!  Two  fine  lives  lost  for  one  frail 
child!  A  little  family  nest  broken  up  in  its  beginning! 
The  father  and  the  mother  gone  in  their  youth!  A 
babe  left  without  a  relative  in  the  world  to  take  care 
of  it!  Oh,  it  was  a  heavy  price  to  pay  for  one  child's 
life!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with  much  emotion. 

"Yet  a  life  so  dear  to  me  that  my  own  life  hung  on 
it!  So  that  I  could  not —  Oh,  Tudor!  how  selfish  we 
all  are!  At  least  I  know  how  selfish  I  am.  Heaven 
help  me!  Yet  I  did  all  that  I  could  do.  I  procured  a 
first-class  nurse  for  the  child,  and  brought  them  both 
to  the  hotel  to  be  under  Nancy's  supervision.  I  laid 
the  remains  of  the  young  wife  beside  those  of  her 
husband  in  the  cemetery  of  St.  Luke's.  I  paid  all 
their  debts.  I  distributed  the  plain  furniture  among 
the  poor  of  the  village.  I  had  all  the  letters,  papers, 
photographs,  trinkets,  and  other  small  personal  effects 
of  the  young  couple,  packed  into  a  box  and  brought 
away,  to  be  preserved,  for  the  future  use  of  the  child, 
thinking  that  in  the  years  to  come,  if  she  should  live, 
she  would  like  to  possess  these  mementos  of  the 
parents  she  had  never  known.  There  were  amon^ 
them  a  fine  double  photograph  of  the  young  p;ii;\ 
taken,  as  the  endorsement  showed,  on  their  wedding- 
day,  presenting  the  faces  of  a  frank,  happy  youth 
and  girl.  There  were  other  photographs,  which,  from 
their  resemblance  to  one  or  the  other  of  the  young 
couple,  must  have  been  family  pictures.  There  were 
also  many  packets  of  letters  and  clippings  from  news- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  55 

papers,  neatly  tied  up  together.  All  these  I  have  care- 
fully preserved  up  to  this  day,  and  shall  soon  deliver 
over  to  their  rightful  owner.  Now,  Tudor,  my  narra- 
tive draws  to  a  close.  As  soon  as  you  were  able  to 
travel  we  returned  to  Cloud  Cliffs,  taking  the  orphan 
infant  with  us.  I  have  kept  my  solemn  promise  to  the 
dying  mother.  I  have  brought  up  her  child  as  my 
own  daughter.  I  have  had  her  carefully  educated  at 
home.  I  can  do  no  more  for  her.  When  I  depart  she 
will  be  left  penniless,  homeless,  friendless — but  for 
this  house  and  its  master,  whose  shelter  and  protec- 
tion she  could  not  accept  but  upon  the  conditions  I 
have  already  named.  Come,  Tudor,  you  know  what  I 
mean!  You  know  the  sacred  debt  we  owe!  Now  what 
do  you  intend  to  do?"  anxiously  inquired  Major  Here- 
ward. 

The  young  man  was  silent,  with  his  head  bowed 
upon  his  open  hands. 

u  She  is  fit  to  be  your  wife,  Tudor.  She  is  fit  to  be 
the  wife  of  any  man,  of  any  rank,  who  is  worthy  to 
have  her.  Come,  Tudor!" 

Still  the  young  man  was  silent. 

"Then  I  must  tell  you  her  secret.  The  secret  that  I 
surprised  from  her.  The  maiden  loves  you,  my  son." 

Still  no  response. 

"Lilith  loves  you,  Tudor." 

Dead  silence. 

"Why  do  you  not  answer  me,  my  son?" 

"Father,"  he  said,  at  length,  lifting  his  handsome 
head,  "I  will  marry  Lilith  Wyvil  if  she  will  accept  me. 
And  I  will  try  to  make  her  happy." 


56  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

CHAPTEE  V 

A  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE 

WHEN  Lilith  Wyvil  left  the  sick-room,  in  sore  need 
of  food  and  rest,  but  still  more  in  need  of  sleep,  she 
would  have  gone  at  once  to  her  bed-chamber,  to  lie 
down  and  dream  of  the  blessedness  that  she  imagined 
must  surely  await  her  as  the  wife  of  the  one  man  on 
earth  whom  her  love  and  faith  had  exaggerated  into 
a  very  king  of  men. 

But  as  she  crossed  the  hall  she  was  captured  by 
Nancy  Skamp,  who  came  out  of  the  front  dressing- 
closet,  and  stopped  her  young  mistress  with  blunt 
words. 

"Dar!  I  jest  fought  how  it  was  gwine  to  be.  Too 
tired  to  eat  a  moufful.  An'  gwine  to  go  upsta'rs  an' 
fling  yerse'f  down  on  de  top  o'  de  bed,  wid  all  yer  close 
on,  I  dessay.  Now  I  ain't  a-gwine  to  pimmit  no  sich 
fing.  Come  right  downsta'rs  'long  o'  me,  an'  eat  some 
b'eakfas' — b'eakfas'  at  two  o'clock  in  de  arternoon!  I 
call  it  flyin'  in  de  face  ob  natur'.  I  do,  indeed." 

"I  am  not  the  least  hungry,  Aunt  Nancy,  but  I  am 
very,  very  sleepy,"  gently  replied  Lilith. 

"Wot  all  dat  got  to  do  wid  it?  All  dat  makes  no 
deffunce  at  all.  An'  I  ain't  a-gwine  to  listen  to  no 
sich  dejections.  I  nussed  yer  wen  yer  was  nuffin  but 
a  little  baby.  An'  I  reckon  I  got  de  right  to  have  my 
say  inter  yer  interes'." 

"Indeed  you  have,  Aunt  Nancy,"  gratefully  re- 
sponded Lilith. 

"Well,  den,  now  listen  to  me  good.  Never  mine 
'bout  yer  not  bein'  hunggy.  Yer  eat,  an'  yer  ap'tite 
will  come  to  yer.  An'  yer'll  git  up  yer  strent'.  But 
ef  yer  doan  eat  yer'll  get  so  weak  yer  can't  set  up  an' 
nuss  de  ole  marster.  An'  den  wot  de  ole  marster 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  57 

gwine  do?  Gwine  to  die  for  want  ob  popper  nussin'. 
I  seen  people  die  fo'  want  ob  dat  'fo'  now.  'Deed  has 
I." 

This  last  argument  prevailed  with  Lilith,  and  she 
preceded  the  servant  downstairs  to  the  pleasant  sit- 
ting-room, where,  before  the  open  hickory  wood  fire 
stood  a  rocking-chair,  with  a  footstool  below  it,  and 
beside  it  a  little  round  table,  covered  with  a  white 
cloth,  and  adorned  with  a  silver  and  china  breakfast 
service  for  one. 

"Now  yer  set  right  down  dar  in  dat  dar  easy-cha'r, 
an'  put  yer  feet  to  de  fire,  w'ile  I  go  an'  get  yer  b'eak- 
fas' — b'eakfas'  at  two  o'clock  in  de  arternoon.  I  calls 
it  flyin'  in  de  face.  I  does,  indeed,"  grumbled  Nancy, 
as  she  left  the  room. 

Lilith  dropped  exhausted  into  the  rocking-chair, 
leaned  back,  and  immediately  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed 
that  she  stood,  dressed  in  bridal  array,  beside  Tudor 
Hereward,  before  the  altar  of  the  parish  church  of  St. 
Joseph's,  at  Frosthill ;  that  Major  Hereward,  who  had 
miraculously  recovered  his  health,  gave  her  away,  and 
Tudor  was  in  the  act  of  putting  the  wedding  ring  on 
her  finger,  when  she  was  rudely  awakened — 

"Dar,  now!  Wot  I  tell  yer?  Let  yerse'f  run  down 
so  low  yer  can't  keep  yer  eyes  open  one  minute.  Wake 
up,  honey,  an'  eat  yer  b'eakfas' — b'eakfas'  at  two 
o'clock  in  de  arternoon!  'Deed,  I  calls  it  flyin'!" 

Lilith  started  out  of  her  happy  dream  to  find  herself 
in  the  rocking-chair  before  the  fire,  and  Nancy  stand- 
ing beside  the  table,  upon  which  she  had  arranged  a 
dainty  repast  of  rich  coffee,  cream,  toast,  poached 
eggs  and  broiled  partridge. 

Lilith  smiled,  thanked  her  servant,  and  turned  her 
chair  to  the  table. 

She  really  felt  too  tired  and  sleepy  to  eat;  but  when 
to  please  Nancy  she  took  a  mouthful  of  the  toast  she 


58  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

was  surprised  to  find  how  very  hungry  she  suddenly 
became. 

And  so,  to  Nancy's  great  satisfaction,  she  made  a 
healthy  meal.  And  vhen  she  finished  it  she  did  not 
feel  nearly  so  sleepy  as  she  had  felt  when  she  had 
begun  it. 

And  this  was  well,  for  her  strength  was  to  be  fur- 
ther taxed  before  she  was  to  be  permitted  to  rest. 

Nancy  took  the  little  breakfast  out  to  the  kitchen, 
and  returned  with  an  armful  of  round  hickory  sticks 
which  she  piled  upon  the  fire,  which  immediately 
leaped  into  a  roaring  flame. 

"It's  mighty  cold,  I  tell  yer  all  good,  Miss  Lilith! 
An'  it's  a-gwine  to  get  a  heap  colder!  Nebber  see  a 
colder  New  Year's  Day  in  all  my  life!"  said  the 
woman,  as  she  stood  basking  before  the  blazing  fire. 

And  indeed  the  aspect  of  the  earth,  as  seen  through 
the  front  and  side  windows  of  this  room,  seemed  to 
confirm  her  words. 

For  the  ground  was  covered  deeply  with  frozen 
snow,  and  all  the  trees  and  bushes  were  sheathed  in 
ice  and  hung  thickly  with  pendant  icicles. 

Nancy  left  the  room  again  and  returned  with  an- 
other armful  of  hickory  sticks  and  threw  them  upon 
the  fire,  which  received  them  with  a  roar  and  a  burst 
of  flame. 

"Why  don't  you  let  Alick  or  Steve  do  that?  It  is 
their  work,  not  yours!"  said  the  young  lady. 

"  'Gaze  I  choose  to  do  it  myse'f  radder  dan  wait  deir 
lazy  motions,  Miss  Lilith!  But  w'y  doan  yer  go  to  bed, 
now  yer's  had  yer  b'eakfas' — b'eakfas'  at  two  o'clock 
in  de  arternoon!  Putty  way  to  begin  de  New  Year! 
'Deed  it's  flyin'  in  de  face!  Now,  w'y  doan  yer  go  to 
bed,  honey?" 

"Because  I  have  waked  up  now.  Besides,  I  want  to 
distribute  the  New  Year's  gifts,  if  you  will  call  the 
servants  in.  I  had  really  forgotten  them." 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  59 

'*No  wonder,  wid  all  yer  had  on  yer  mine,  Miss 
Lilith!  Will  I  fetch  all  de  niggers  in  togedder?" 

"No!  Bring  the  women  and  girls  first,"  said  the 
young  lady,  as  she  arose  and  went  to  the  corner  cup- 
board, in  the  angle  of  the  wall  between  the  front  and 
the  side  windows,  opened  it  and  took  from  it  various 
parcels,  which  she  brought  and  piled  upon  the  little 
round  table. 

It  required  several  trips  between  the  cupboard  and 
the  table  before  all  the  parcels  were  transferred  from 
the  former  to  the  latter,  and  the  cupboard  was  closed. 

Then  Lilith  dropped  into  her  chair  to  wait. 

Meanwhile  Nancy  had  gone  out  to  drum  up  all  the 
maids  about  the  house,  and  she  soon  returned  with 
about  half  a  dozen  women  and  girls  who  entered  the 
room  respectfully  but  boisterously,  all  exclaiming, 
with  courtesies: 

"Happy  New  Year,  honey!" 

"Happy  New  Year,  Miss  Lilith!" 

"Happy  New  Year,  young  mist'ess!" 

"I  thank  you  all  very  much  and  wish  you  all  very 
many  good  and  happy  New  Years!  But  do  not  be 
noisy.  Remember  that  the  master's  room  is  just  over 
this  one  and  that  he  is  very,  very  ill,"  said  Lilith, 
gently  and  gravely. 

"I's  so  sorry!" 

"Po'  ole  marse!" 

"I  hopes  he'll  get  ober  it  like  he  did  befo'." 

These  words  came  in  a  chorus  of  subdued  voices. 

Lilith  echoed  the  hope,  and  then  began  to  distribute 
the  gay  plaid  woolen  dresses  that  she  had  selected  for 
the  maids. 

These  were  received  with  profuse  delight  and  grati- 
tude expressed  in  such  quaint  phrases  as — 

"Hush,  honey!" 

"Whip,  you  bosses!" 

"Ain't  it  jam!" 


60  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Won't  I  cut  a  dash!" 

And  when  the  last  dress  had  been  given  out  Lilith 
dismissed  her  maids,  who  retired  with  many  low 
courtesies. 

Then  the  men  and  boys  were  summoned.  They 
entered  the  room  more  quietly  than  the  women  and 
girls  had  done;  and  their  New  Year's  salutations  were 
more  subdued  and  respectful. 

They  received  the  various  woolen  scarfs,  socks, 
gloves,  fur  caps,  mauds,  and  other  comfortable  de- 
fences against  cold  weather,  with  much  gratification 
and  thankfulness,  and  retired  in  the  same  orderly 
manner  in  which  they  had  entered. 

When  the  last  one  had  left  the  room,  Lilith  called 
Nancy  to  her  side  and  gave  the  woman  the  last  parcel 
that  lay  on  the  table. 

It  contained  a  beautiful  black  mohair  alpaca,  and  a 
piece  of  book  muslin  for  head  and  neck-handkerchiefs 
and  aprons. 

"Last  and  best,  Miss  Lilith!  T'anky,  miss;  I'll 
'member  yer  in  my  prayers.  'Deed  I  will.  T'anky, 
miss." 

"By  the  way,  what  church  are  you  going  to  join  this 
year,  Aunt  Nancy?"  inquired  the  young  lady,  referring 
to  a  well-known  eccentricity  of  the  woman's. 

"I  was  a-finkin'  ob  j'inin'  de  Free  Wills,  'deed  I  was, 
honey!  'Gaze,  yer  see  as  many  'sieties  as  I  'long  to,  I's 
nebber  been  'mersed  yet !  An'  'mersion  may  be  neces- 
sary, as  de  Free  Wills  do  say.  An'  so,  as  it  is  bes' 
always  to  be  on  de  safe  side,  I  fink  I  shall  jine  de 
Free  Wills." 

"And  then  you  will  be  a  member  of  almost  every 
Christian  sect,"  said  Lilith,  with  a  smile. 

"I  hope  so,  Miss  Lilith,  'caze  I  wants  to  be!  Dat's 
de  on'y  way  to  be  on  de  safe  side.  'Caee  dey  is  all 
deff'unt  an'  some  opperside;  an'  I  doan  know  w'ich  is 
right  an'  w'ich  is  wrong;  and  I  doan  care  much  neider, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  61 

but  I  wants  to  be  on  de  safe  side  an'  save  my  mortal 
soul  alibe;  so  I  jine  'em  all,  so  as  not  to  miss  de  true 
one;  an'  den,  young  mist'ess,  yer  see,  whoebber's 
wrong,  I  is  sure  to  be  right." 

"But  when  you  join  one  sect,  does  not  another  dis- 
card you?" 

"Hi,  young  mist'ess,  who  yer  fink  a  fool?  Fink  I 
gwine  gib  myse'f  'way  like  dat?  I  nebber  tells  'em 
nothin'  'bout  wot  I  jines.  I  keep  in  'long  ob  all  ob  'em, 
so  I  be  sure  of  de  right  one.  I  'f esses  to  de  pries';  I 
sings  an'  shouts  at  de  camp  meetin's;  I  sits  mum 
chance  'mong  de  Inner  Lights — " 

"Wherever  did  you  meet  with  the  Inner  Lights,  as 
you  call  them?" 

"When  I  was  travelin'  long  ob  de  ole  marse  to  take 
care  ob  de  little  marse — years  an'  years  ago.  Yes,  I 
jines  'em  all,  an'  I  keeps  in  long  ob  'em  all.  I  goes  to 
de  water  wid  de  Free  Wills  ebery  time  a  new  sister  or 
brudder  is  goin'  to  be  'mersed.  An'  I'm  gwine  to  be  a 
Free  Will  myse'f." 

"And  how  many  more  sects  do  you  mean  to  connect 
yourself  with?" 

"Dunno,  honey,  till  I  fine  'em  out.  I  do  hear  as  dere 
is  two  new  'sieties,  w'ich  one  is  called  de  New  Light 
an  de  oder  de  Second  Adventurers.  I'm  gwine  to 
'quire  into  dem,  an'  jine  'em  de  fuss  chance  I  get. 
'Gaze,  yer  see,  all  de  res'  may  be  wrong,  an'  one  ob 
dem  right.  An'  it  would  be  a  awful  fing  if  I  been 
wrong  all  my  life  an'  lose  my  mortal  soul,  arter  all  de 
trouble  I  hab  took  to  save  it.  'Deed,  I  ain't  gwine 
to  leave  no  stone  unturned,  as  the  old  sayin'  says." 

"Heaven  help  you,  Nancy!  I  cannot!"  said  Lilith, 
very  gravely,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  the  spiritual 
darkness  in  which  this  eccentric  creature  walked. 

What  reply  Nancy  might  have  made  was  cut  short 
by  the  entrance  of  Alick  to  announce: 

"A  gem'an  in  de  parlor  a-waitin'  to  see  yer,  miss." 


62  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"What  gentleman,  Alick?" 

"Young  Mr. — Mr. — Wot  is  his  name  ag'in? — Mr. — 
Mr. — Hal — Hallo — I  mean  dat  young  youth  wot  has 
come  on  to  old  Mr.  Rushmore's  place." 

"Oh!  young  Mr.  Hilary.  Tell  him  I  will  be  down 
in  a  few  minutes/'  said  Lilith,  who  never  refused  to 
see  a  visitor.  And  she  ran  upstairs  to  change  her 
white  wrapper  for  a  home  dress. 

In  a  very  short  time  she  appeared  in  the  parlor 
dressed  in  a  crimson  cashmere  suit,  lace  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  with  her  curling  black  hair  gathered  into  a 
fine  black  net. 

Standing  on  the  rug,  with  his  back  to  the  roaring 
hickory  fire,  stood  a  tall,  slight  young  man,  with  a  thin 
face,  a  broad,  full  forehead,  a  turned-up  nose,  a  florid 
complexion — now  much  exaggerated  by  the  cold — 
bright  red  whiskers  and  mustache,  and  a  shock  of 
bright  red  hair  that  thickly  covered  his  head,  and  all 
this  stood  out  around  his  sanguine  face  like  a  halo, 
as  his  fond  mother  said;  though  his  frank,  merry 
countenance  certainly  did  not  suggest  sanctity. 

With  full  confidence  in  his  welcome,  he  had  laid  olf 
his  overcoat  and  fur  cap  and  left  them  in  the  hall,  and 
he  now  stood  before  the  fire  in  a  morning  suit  of 
bottle-green  broadcloth,  with  a  large  roll  of  white 
paper  sticking  from  his  pocket,  and  with  a  choice 
bouquet  in  Ids  hand — a  bouquet  that  filled  the  whole 
room  with  a  rich,  aromatic  fragrance. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Wyvil!  A  Happy  New  Year 
to  you!  This  is  the  first  I  have  made  to-day,  believe 
me!  I  should  have  been  here  hours  earlier,  only  I  was 
bound  to  hnve  these  flowers  cut  fresh  this  morning, 
and  to  make  sure  of  it  I  rode  to  the  florist's  at  Frost- 
hill,  and  selected  them  myself  and  saw  them  put  up 
myself.  Fee,  they  have  all  long  stems,  and  they  will 
keep  a  long  time  if  you  put  them  in  water  with  a  few 
drops  of  ammonia.  Will  you  kindly  accept  them?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  63 

"Thank  you  very  much;  Mr.  Hilary,  they  are  really 
beautiful,"  replied  Lilith,  with  a  slight  smile  at  the 
quaintness  of  her  visitor's  manners.  "I  hope  your 
mother  and  sisters  are  quite  well,"  she  added. 

"Oh,  just  roaring  well!  Never  were  ill  in  all  their 
lives,  and  never  were  so  well  as  now!  How's  all  with 
you?" 

"My  father  is  suffering  from  an  attack  of  his  old 
malady,  I  regret  to  say,"  gravely  replied  Lilith. 

"Eh!  I  didn't  hear  about  it,"  exclaimed  Hilary, 
with  awakened  interest. 

"Oh,  it  is  only  since  yesterday  afternoon." 

"You  don't  say!    Is  he  very  bad?" 

"Oh,  I  trust  not!  He  is  much  better  this  morn- 
ing," said  Lilith,  whose  hopes  had  been  much 
strengthened. 

"And  the  Honorable!  Did  he  come  down  for  the 
holidays?" 

"No,  but  he  came  this  morning  to  see  his  father." 

"But  you  say  the  major  is  better?" 

"Yes,  he  is  much  better. 

"I  am  glad  of  that.  I  wouldn't  like  anything  to  hap- 
pen to  the  major.  So  glad!  But  I  called  this  morning 
not  only  to  bring  the  flowers  and  wish  you  a  Happy 
New  Year,  but  to  ask  you  if  you  will  do  me  the  honor 
to  allow  me  to  take  you  to  the  theatre  to-night?" 

"The  theatre?"  inquired  Lilith,  wondering  what  her 
visitor  meant  by  talking  of  a  theatre  in  that  mountain 
wilderness  and  in  the  depth  of  winter. 

"Yes.  You  see  there  has  come  'The  Grand 
Montmorencie  and  Plantagenet  Operatic  and  Drama- 
tic Combination  of  Beauty  and  Talent  from  London 
and  Paris,'  as  the  show-bills  describe  it,  and  they  are 
going  to  perform  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Frosthill.  Per- 
formance to  open  with  the  'Opera  of  Figaro's  Mar- 
riage, to  be  followed  by  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth,  and 
concluded  with  the  roaring  farce  of  Fortune's  Frolic  1' 


Gl  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Jnst  see  what  a  bill!"  exclaimed  the  enthusiast,  draw- 
ing from  his  pocket  that  large  roll  of  paper,  unfurl- 
ing it  as  a  flag,  and  displaying  the  programme  in 
large  letters  of  all  the  colors  in  the  rainbow. 

Lilith  smiled  at  the  excitement  of  "her  visitor. 

"Now,  then!  Will  you  go?  If  you  will,  I  will  have 
the  sleigh  here  on  time,  with  plenty  of  bear-skins  and 
hot  stones,  and  everything  to  make  you  comfortable; 
and  I  will  take  first-rate  care  of  you." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  am  very  grateful.  But  I 
cannot  accept  your  kind  offer,  for  I  must  not  leave 
Major  Hereward  at  this  time,"  gently  replied  Lilith. 

"Oh,  but  I  thought  he  was  so  much  better!"  ex- 
claimed the  young  man,  in  a  surprised  and  disap- 
pointed tone. 

"He  is  better,  thank  Heaven,  but  lie  is  not  well, 
and  I  must  not  leave  him." 

"What  a  nuisance!  And  I  thought  I  should  have 
the  delight  of  taking  you  to  the  theatre  to-night,  and 
of  telling  you — but  that  I  can  do  here!"  said  Hilary,  as 
he  suddenly  left  his  seat,  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  side 
of  Lilith,  and  dropped  into  it. 

Lilith  lifted  her  eyes  in  surprise  and  questioning. 

"May  I  tell  you  here,  Miss  Wyvil?"  he  entreated. 

"What  is  it? — Yes — I  don't  know,"  replied  the  girl, 
confused  and  somewhat  frightened  by  his  manner. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you —  Don't  be  afraid.  Miss 
Wyvil!  Please  don't  be  afraid,  I  wouldn't  even  lift 
your  hand  to  my  lips  without  your  leave,  I  have  so 
much  respect  as  well  as — as  the  other,  for  you!  In- 
deed I  have." 

"I — do  not  understand  you,"  said  Lilith,  in  a  fittle, 
low,  timid  voice,  and  speaking  truly,  for  she  really 
did  not  know  what  he  meant,  and  she  feared  her 
visitor  must  have  lost  his  wits. 

"You — you  don't  understand  me?"  uneasily  inquired 
Hilary. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  65 

"No,'l  do  not." 

"Well,  that's  very  awkward.  You  don't  know  what 
I  want  to  tell  you?" 

"No,  indeed." 

"This  is  awful!  It  makes  it  so  awkward!  And  I 
never  said  it  to  any  young  lady  before.  And  I  hardly 
know  how  to  say  it  now.  I  thought  you  would  be  pre- 
pared for  it.  And  you  are  not?" 

"Xo,  I  sa.v,  I —  Hadn't  you  better  compose  your- 
self, Mr.  Hilary?"  said  Lilith,  divided  between  her 
sense  of  the  duties  of  hospitality  and  her  fears  of  her 
visitor. 

Hilary,  who  Taad  left  his  seat  and  was  walking 
nervously  up  and  down  the  room,  shoved  his  long 
fingers  through  his  shock  of  red  hai-r,  and  answered: 

"Xo!  I  can't  compose  myself  until  I  get  this  off  my 
mind.  Oh,  Miss  Wyvil!  You  are  not  blind!  You  see 
your  lovely  face  in  the  glass  sometimes.  You  must 
know  how  charming  you  are.  And  how  utterly  impos- 
sible it  is  for  me,  or  for  any  oae,  to  see  you  and  not  to 
— to — to — admire  you,  to — to — like  you,  to — love  you, 
in  fact!"  he  stammered,  blushing  like  a  school-girl. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hilary,  pray,  pray,  do  not,"  pleaded  the 
young  lady,  drawing  away  the  hand  that  he  clasped 
and  tried  to  hold. 

"But  I  love  you,  indeed  I  do;  I  want  to  marry  you, 
indeed  I  do.  It  seems  to  me  I  never  could  be  happy 
without  you.  Why,  I  know  I  shan't  even  enjoy  the 
theatre  to-night  because  I  couldn't  get  you  to  come 
with  me.  But  you'll  think  better  of  it,  won't  you? 
Xow  that  you  know  I  love  you  and  want  to  marry 
you,  you  will  come  with  me  after  all,  won't  you?  Say, 
won't  you?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  cannot  leave 
Major  Hereward,"  pleaded  Lilith,  making  her  refusal 
as  kind  as  possible. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  give  that  pleasure  up.  But 


66  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

you  will  marry  me,  Miss  Lilith,  won't  you,  now?  You'd 
never  find  any  one  to  love  you  better  than  I  do,  or  any 
one  more  willing  to  let  you  walk  right  over  him  than  I 
am.  Do  now,  Miss  Lilith.  Only  consent  to  have  me, 
and  you  shall  have  your  own  way  in  every  blessed 
respect  in  this  world,"  he  pleaded,  losing  his  timidity 
and  his  awkwardness  in  his  earnestness. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Hilary,  I  am  so  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say 
all  this!  For  I  cannot  respond.  But  yon  have  known 
me  such  a  little  time  that  I  cannot  in  any  way  be 
necessary  to  your  welfare  or — happiness.  I  hope  you 
will  soon  forget  to  think  of  me  in  any  way  but  as  a 
good  friend,"  gently  replied  the  girl. 

"Known  you  such  a  little  time?  Oh!  Miss  Lilith, 
what  has  time  to  do  with  love?  AYitli  real,  true  love, 
I  mean,  not  with  the  counterfeit  which  often  goes  by 
its  name.  Oh,  Miss  Lilith!  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
you,  when  we  first  came  to  the  neighborhood  last 
summer,  and  you  and  the  major  and  the  honorable 
called  on  us  at  Rushmore's,  I  felt  like  the  poet  says: 

'As  if  my  soul  that  moment  caught 
A  something  it  through  life  had  sought.' 

Thomas  Moore,  you  know!  So  do  not  talk  of  time  in 
regard  to  love.  Yet,  if  you  want  a  few  hours  to  think 
of  this,  I  will  try  to  wait." 

"I  do  not  want  a  moment  to  think  of  it,  Mr.  Hilary, 
if  you  please.  I  am  quite  certain  that  I  shall  never 
care  for  you  except  as  a  friend  and  neighbor.  So  pray 
let  this  subject  drop  forever.  You  do  not  know  how 
it  distresses  me,"  said  Lilith,  gravely. 

"I  wouldn't  distress  you  for  the  whole  world,  Miss 
Lilith!  Perhaps  I  have  been  too  sudden  in  my — my — 
my  proposal.  If  I  have  you  will  please  to  excuse  me, 
for  I  am  new  to  this  sort  of  thing.  I  never  said  such 
words  as  I  have  said  to  you  to  any  other  young  lady  in 
the  world.  No,  nor  never  wished  to  say  them  to  any 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  67 

other.    You  are  my  first  love,  Miss  Lilith,  as  I  hope 
and  pray  I  may  be  yours." 

"Oh!  please,  please  say  no  more,  Mr.  Hilary.  You 
do  me  great  honor,  and  I  thank  you;  but  please  say 
no  more;  you  do  distress  me  very  much,"  begged  the 

girl. 

"Well,  I'll  not  say  any  more  just  at  present.  But— 
I  know  you  will  think  of  what  I  have  said  to  you, 
and  I  will  wait  and  hope." 

As  the  young  man  uttered  these  persistent  words 
the  door  swung  slowly  open,  and  Tudor  Hereward 
walked  into  the  room. 

"Is  Major  Hereward  awake?  Does  he  want  me?" 
inquired  Lilith,  rising  with  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief. 

"No,  Nancy  and  Stephen  are  waiting  on  him.  He 
does  not  want  you  yet;  but  I  shall  presently.  Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Hilary.  I  wish  you  a  Happy  New  Year," 
said  the  young  man,  advancing  to  shake  hands  with 
the  visitor. 

"The  same  to  you  and  many  of  them,  sir,"  replied 
the  youth,  blushing  violently  as  he  returned  the  greet- 
ing. 

"How  have  you  managed  to  live  now  that  the  in- 
clemency of  the  weather  has  stopped  all  traveling  cir- 
cuses and  wild  beast  shows?"  inquired  Tudor  Here- 
ward, taking  a  chair  at  the  fire  and  inviting  the  visitor 
by  a  polite  gesture  to  resume  his  own  seat. 

"Oh!  as  to  that!  Haven't  you  seen  the  posters? 
No?  Why,  they  are  all  over  the  village,  and  on  every 
roadside  barn,  and  on .  every  turnpike  gate.  'The 
Grand  Montmorencie  and  Plantagenet  Operatic  and 
Dramatic  Combination  of  Beauty  and  Talent,  from 
London  and  Paris/  "  replied  Hilary,  hitching  up  his 
chair  and  launching  out  into  a  florid  eulogium  on  the 
expected  entertainment. 

"From  Paris,  eh?"  inquired  Tudor  Hereward,  with  a 
dubious  smile. 


68  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"And  London,"  emphatically  added  Hilary. 

"Strange  they  should  honor  our  little  out-of-the-wa7 
village  while  the  great  cities  must  be  awaiting  them 
with  breathless  impatience." 

"Well,  now,  isn't  it?  But  still,  it  is  none  of  our 
business,  so  that  we  benefit  by  it,  is  it?"  inquired  the 
unsuspicious  boy. 

"Not  that  I  am  aware  of,"  laughed  Mr.  Hereward. 

"You'll  go  to  see  them  to-night,  of  course?"  con- 
tinued Hilary. 

"No;  my  father  is  too  ill  to  be  left." 

"Why,  Miss  Wyvil  says  he  is  better." 

"He  is  better,  but  not  well  enough  to  be  left." 

"Oh!  I'm  very  sorry.  Please  give  my  respects  to 
him,  and  tell  him  that  I  hope  he  wrill  soon  be  about 
again.  And  now  I  think  I  must  go,"  said  the  youth, 
who,  seeing  that  there  was  not  the  faintest  hope 
for  the  renewal  of  his  tete-a-tete  with  Lilith,  arose 
and  took  his  leave. 


ANOTHER  PROPOSAL  OF  MARRIAGE 

"WHAT  brought  that  cub  here  this  morning,  Lilith?" 
inquired  Tudor  Hereward,  as  soon  as  Rufus  Hilary 
had  disappeared. 

"A  New  Year's  call,"  replied  the  girl. 

"And  that  bouquet?" 

"A  New  Year's  offering.  I  shall  put  them  in  water, 
and  place  them  on  a  stand  beside  Major  Hereward's 
bed." 

"Were  they  brought  for  Major  Hereward?" 

"Mr.  Hilary  brought  them  for  me." 

"Let  me  put  them  in  water,  Lilith,  and  then  let  me 
have  a  little  talk  with  you,"  said  Hereward,  as  he  took 
the  bouquet  from  her  hands,  and  placed  it  temporarily 
in  a  water  carafe  that  stood  upon  a  side  table. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  69 

Then  he  returned  to  his  seat,  drew  his  chair  nearer, 
took  her  hand  in  his,  and  said: 

"Lilith,  my  father  wishes  that  you  and  I  should 
marry.  What  do  you  say?  Will  you  take  me  for 
your  husband?'' 

She  lifted  her  dark  eyes  to  his  eyes  with  one  swift 
and  swiftly-withdrawn  glance,  so  full  of  shy  love  and 
joy  and  delight,  that  he  for  the  first  time  recognized 
the  beauty  of  the  girl's  spirit,  and  gazed  upon  the  soft 
shadow  of  the  downcast  lashes  on  the  blushing  cheeks 
with  admiration,  if  not  with  affection. 

"Come,  little  darling,  what  do  you  say?  Will  you 
give  yourself  to  me?" 

"If — if  you  want  me,  Mr.  Hereward,"  she  whispered, 
in  a  voice  so  low  and  timid  that  he  had  to  bend  his 
head  to  hear  her  words. 

"That  is  right,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  her  to  his  bosoray 
and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  thus  bestowing  upon  the 
heart  which  adored  him  one  moment  of  unutterable 
bliss.  "That  is  right.  Now  we  will  go  to  the  father, 
and  make  his  heart  glad  with  the  news."  And  drawing 
his  betrothed  bride's  arm  within  his  own,  he  led  her 
upstairs  and  into  the  sick-room.  Nancy  was  sitting 
by  the  bed,  but  she  immediately  arose  and  made  way 
for  the  gentleman  and  lady.  Tudor  Hereward  led 
Lilith  up  to  his  father's  side,  and  said: 

"I  have  brought  you  my  wife  that  you  may  bless 
us  both." 

The  blessing  given,  the  father  said : 

"And  now,  Tudor,  you  must  send  into  Frosthill  for 
the  minister  and  the  license.  You  can  write  a  note  to 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Cave,  and  ask  him  to  bring  the  license 
with  him,  and  we  will  have  the  marriage  ceremony 
performed  this  evening." 

Tudor  Hereward,  with  a  slight  bow  of  assent,  went 
to  the  little  writing  table  that  stood  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  sat  down  and  wrote  the  note  to  the  Rector 


70  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

of  St.  Mark's  Church  at  Frosthill,  and  then  went  out 
to  dispatch  it  by  one  of  the  grooms. 

Lilith  remained  seated  by  the  bed,  with  her  hand 
clasped  in  that  of  her  foster-father. 

"My  daughter,  bring  my  bunch  of  keys,  dear." 

Major  Hereward  selected  one  key,  detached  it  from 
the  ring  and  held  it  in  his  hand,  while  he  said: 

"Lilith,  my  darling,  do  you  remember  a  large,  old- 
fashioned,  black  hair  trunk  that  stands  among  other 
trunks,  barrels  and  boxes  in  the  northeast  garret 
room?  That  trunk  has  not  been  opened  for  seventeen 
years.  It  is  yours,  my  dear  Lilith,  as  it  was  youi 
dear  father's  and  mother's  before  you.  It  was,  in  fact, 
all  that  they  left  you.  From  its  contents  you  will 
learn  more  of  your  family  history  than  even  I  know; 
for  I  have  never  looked  into  the  packets  of  letters 
which  I  sealed  up  and  locked  in  that  trunk.  This, 
my  dear,  is  the  key." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Dr.  Kerr,  the 
family  physician,  walked  in,  followed  by  Nancy. 

Lilith  arose  and  bowed  to  the  doctor,  and  withdrew 
from  the  room,  as  was  her  custom  when  he  entered  it. 
She  went  to  her  own  chamber  and  lay  down,  trying  in 
vain  to  gain  a  little  of  the  sleep  she  so  much  needed. 
But  the  excitement  of  the  day  had  been  too  great. 
She  could  not  compose  herself  to  rest.  At  length  she 
arose,  re-arranged  her  dress  and  went  down  the  hall 
to  the  little  closet  occupied  by  Nancy,  who  sat  there 
knitting  as  usual. 

"\Yho  is  with  Major  Hereward?"  she  inquired  of  the 
woman. 

"Marse  Dr.  Kerr  is  wid  him.  Ole  Marse  Major  ax 
Marse  Dr.  pertickler  to  stay  long  ob  him  dis  ebenin' 
to  witness  somefin'." 

"To  witness — what?"  inquired  Lilith,  with  a  con- 
scious blush. 

"Oh!  I  dunno.     Somefin'!    Maybe  his  will!" 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  71 

"Did  the  doctor  say  how  Major  Here  ward  is?" 

"Yes,  honey!  He  say  as  how  he  is  better;  how  he 
may  pull  t'rough  dis  time  too,  same  as  he  allers  did." 

It  was  Lilith's  habit  to  refrain  from  entering  the 
sick-chamber  while  the  doctor  was  present  there.  So 
she  went  down  into  the  family  parlor,  where  she  had 
eaten  her  breakfast  that  morning. 

That  evening  Lilith  went  to  her  wardrobe  to  select 
her  gown.  She  had  one  evening  dress  noticeable  only 
for  its  simple  elegance. 

It  was  of  pure  white  silk,  with  an  overskirt  of  white 
tulle,  looped  with  white  moss  rosebuds.  This,  with  the 
white  gaiters,  and  white  kid  gloves,  white  fan,  wreath, 
and  pearl  jewelry  that  belonged  to  the  toilet,  had  been 
prepared  for  a  party  which  was  to  come  off  on  Old 
Christmas  Day,  and  to  which  the  girl  had  been  invited. 
It  was  extremely  unlikely,  under  present  prospects, 
that  she  would  attend  this  party;  but  the  dress  came 
in  now  very  conveniently  for  the  marriage  ceremony. 

So  she  took  heart  of  grace,  and  putting  her  pretty 
feet  into  silken  hose  and  white  kid  gaiters,  she  dressed 
herself  in  the  simple  but  elegant  costume  of  white 
tulle,  looped  with  white  moss  roses  over  white  silk. 
She  placed  a  bunch  of  white  moss  rosebuds  on  her 
bosom,  and  a  necklace  and  bracelets  of  pearls  around 
her  pretty  throat  and  wrists. 

With  a  silent  prayer  for  the  Lord's  help  and  bless- 
ing in  this  crisis  of  her  life,  she  opened  the  door  and 
went  out.  In  the  hall  she  was  met  by  the  gray-haired 
doctor,  who  surveyed  her  with  surprise  and  admira- 
tion for  a  moment  as  he  said: 

"Come,  my  pretty,  little  lady-love.  The  major  sent 
me  out  here  to  wait  for  you  and  bring  you  in." 

And  he  drew  Lilith's  arm  within  his  own  and  led  her 
into  the  sick-room. 

The  minister,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cave,  a  half-brother  of 
Dr.  Kerr,  and  bearing  a  very  striking  resemblance  to 


72  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  physician,  even  to  the  red  face  and  gray  hair, 
•dressed  in  his  full  canonicals,  stood  near  the  fire. 

Mr.  Hereward  was  also  there,  in  full  evening  dress, 
with  white  kid  gloves. 

As  Lilith,  led  in  by  the  doctor,  entered  the  room, 
Tudor,  with  a  sudden  radiance  of  surprise  and 
pleasure  in  his  eyes,  went  to  meet  her. 

But  Lilith,  with  downcast  looks  and  flushed  cheeks, 
passed  directly  to  the  bedside,  to  place  her  hand  in  the 
outstretched  palm  of  her  dear  foster-father. 

"How  pretty  you  are,  my  darling!  Kiss  me,  my 
precious  one,  my  pearl  of  pearls!  Give  me  your  last 
girl's  kiss!"  he  said,  drawing  her  towards  him. 

She  would  have  clasped  her  arms  around  his  neck 
but  that  his  head  lay  prone  upon  the  pillow.  But  she 
took  his  face  between  her  white-gloved  hands,  and 
stooping,  kissed  his  lips  again  and  again,  with  glow- 
ing emotion,  until  she  felt  her  arm  gently  clasped  and 
she  heard  the  low-toned  voice  of  her  betrothed  saying: 

"Come,  Lilith.  You  are  agitating  yourself  and  my 
father.  Come,  the  minister  waits." 

And  the  impressive  ceremony  proceeded  to  its  con- 
clusion. 

After  the  benediction  had  been  pronounced  the  two 
gray-haired  half-brothers,  the  parson  and  the  doctor, 
shook  hands  with  bride  and  bridegroom  and  wished 
them  every  joy. 

Then  Tudor  led  Lilith  up  to  the  bedside,  and  she 
stooped  and  kissed  the  father,  giving  him  the  first 
bride's  as  she  had  given  him  the  last  girl's  kiss.  He 
smiled  up  in  her  eyes,  reached  his  hand  out  and 
clasped  the  hand  of  his  son  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  his  fingers  relaxed  and  he  instantly  fell  into  one 
of  those  sudden  sleeps  of  profound  exhaustion  which 
were  so  frequent  with  him  now. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  78 

CHAPTER  VII 

LILITH'S  DISCOVERY 

"HE  sleeps,"  whispered  Hereward,  bending  to  look 
closely  into  his  father's  face.  "I  think  he  will  do  well 
now.  How  say  you,  doctor?" 

"I  think  so,  too,  Hereward/'  replied  the  physician, 
who  had  come  up  to  the  bedside,  and  whose  "wish  was 
father  to  his  thought."  "And  now,  as  the  major  is 
doing  so  well,  I  must  really  get  into  the  saddle,  for  1 
have  yet  some  patients  to  see,  late  as  it  is.  Will  you 
kindly  order  my  horse?" 

"Not  until  you  have  joined  Mr.  Cave  and  myself  in  a 
glass  of  wine  below  stairs.  Will  you  come,  sir?"  in- 
quired the  young  man,  addressing  the  minister. 

The  latter  bowed,  and  smiled  acquiescence.  And  the 
three  gentlemen  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

As  soon  as  they  had  left  the  room  Lilith  went 
silently  to  the  dressing-closet  where  Nancy  usually 
sat,  knitting  or  sewing,  listening  and  peeping. 

"Now,  Nancy,  I  wish  you  to  go  and  sit  by  my 
father,  and  watch  him  carefully,  while  I  change  my 
dress,"  said  Lilith. 

"Yer  ain't  gwine  to  take  off  dat  boot'ful  dress  till 
bedtime,  I  hopes,  Miss  Lilith,"  objected  the  woman. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  must.  I  wish  to  resume  my  place  by 
father's  side,  and  so  must  change  it,"  Lilith  explained. 

The  woman  said  no  more,  but  passed  into  the  sick- 
room. 

Lilith  went  to  her  own  chamber  and  quickly  made 
the  change. 

Then  she  reappeared  in  Major  Here  ward's  room 
dressed  in  her  home  costume  of  soft  crimson  cashmere. 

Nancy  vacated  her  seat  and  retired  to  the  sewing- 
closet. 


74  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Lilith  sat  down  and  looked  at  the  invalid. 

He  seemed  to  be  sleeping  quietly,  and  the  watcher 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  closed  her  tired  eyes;  but 
presently  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of 
heavy  breathing,  and  she  arose  and  looked  at  the  inva- 
lid again. 

His  face  had  changed.  His  eyes  were  wide  open 
and  fixed.  He  was  breathing  laboriously. 

"Father,  father,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  and 
bending  over  him. 

He  neither  answered  nor  in  any  way  noticed  her. 

She  had  had  no  experience  with  death.  She  had 
never  seen  anyone  die.  Yet  now  her  breath  was  sus- 
pended, and  her  own  life  seemed  going  from  her,  as 
she  recognized  these  sure  signs  of  dissolution. 

Swiftly  and  silently  she  passed  to  the  closet  where 
the  woman  in  attendance  sat  sewing. 

"Nancy!  Oh,  Nancy!  Go  and  call  Mr.  Hereward! 
And  if  the  doctor  and  the  rector  have  not  left  the 
house,  ask  them  to  come  up,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
scarcely  intelligible  from  excessive  agitation. 

"Is  the  ole  marse  worse?"  exclaimed  the  woman,  as 
she  hastily  threw  aside  her  work  and  started  up, 
alarmed  at  the  young  lady's  words  and  looks. 

"I  fear  so.    Hurry,  Nancy,  hurry!" 

The  woman  ran  downstairs.  Lilith  hastened  back  to 
the  bedside.  Mr.  Hereward,  Dr.  Kerr  and  the  Kev. 
Mr.  Cave  came  quickly  into  the  room.  Lilith  sat  by  the 
bed,  holding  the  hand  of  the  dying  man.  She  laid  it 
down  and  left  her  place  to  the  doctor,  who  came  up 
and  felt  the  pulse.  Mr.  Cave  stood  beside  him.  Tudor 
and  Lilith,  nearly  overcome  with  emotion,  yet  keeping 
their  feelings  under  outward  control,  stood  at  the  op- 
posite side.  Nancy  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Can  nothing  be  done?"  inquired  the  son,  in  a  voice 
of  deep  pain. 

"Nothing,"  gravely  replied  the  doctor. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  75 

"Could  you  not  try  stimulants? — electricity?'1  per- 
sistently inquired  the  son,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Useless  torture!  He  is  dying  fast.  Be  strong,  my 
friend,  and — look  to  your  wife,"  whispered  the  doctor. 

Lilith  needed  support.  Pale  as  death,  trembling  and 
almost  fainting,  she  stood  leaning  against  the  foot- 
board. Tudor  passed  his  arm  around  her  waist,  whis- 
pered some  words  of  encouragement,  and  so  sustained 
her  in  her  weakness.  It  was  soon  over.  One  long, 
shuddering  sigh  and  the  struggling  heart  was  still. 
Dr.  Kerr  closed  his  sightless  eyes,  and  drew  the  sheet 
smoothly  over  the  dead  face. 

"Let  us  pray,"  whispered  the  rector. 

And  the  little  group  knelt  around  that  death-bed, 
and,  led  by  the  minister,  prayed  that  this  sorrow 
might  be  sanctified  to  their  souls'  good. 

When  they  arose,  Tudor  Hereward  put  his  arm 
around  the  waist  of  his  weeping  young  wife,  and  led 
her  from  the  death-chamber  to  her  room,  and  after 
speaking  such  words  of  comfort  as  his  grief-stricken 
heart  could  suggest,  he  left  her  to  the  care  of  the 
sympathizing  colored  women  who  had  crowded  about 
the  doors  at  the  sign  of  death.  Then  Tudor  Here- 
ward  went  to  his  own  room  and  locked  himself  in, 
to  struggle  alone  with  his  great  sorrow. 

Five  days  later  the  mortal  remains  of  the  elder 
Tudor  Hereward  were  laid  in  the  family  vault  of  St. 
Mark's  Church,  Frosthill,  in  the  presence  of  a  large 
congregation  of  friends  and  neighbors. 

And  the  next  day  Tudor  Hereward  the  younger 
announced  his  intention  of  returning  to  Washington 
by  the  evening  train. 

"I  shall  leave  you  in  charge  here,  Lilith,"  he  said, 
"with  full  powers  to  act  during  my  absence.  I  cannot 
take  you  with  me  to  subject  you  to  the  discomforts  of 
hotel  life  or  the  distractions  of  Washington  society. 
IVrhaps  by  the  next  winter  a  year  hence  I  may  be  able 


76  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

to  take  a  house  and  fit  it  up  for  you ;  but  in  the  mean- 
time  you  are  better  off  here.  Shall  you  mind  being 
left  here  for  the  present?" 

She  hesitated;  for  she  did  mind  very  much. 

"Shall  you  be  afraid  to  stay  here  alone?"  he  in- 
quired, varying  the  question. 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all  afraid!"  promptly  replied  Lilith, 
glad  that  she  could  answer  truthfully,  as  well  as  satis- 
factorily. 

"That  is  well!  You  are  a  brave  little  woman,  1 
know.  And  in  fact  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  You  will 
be  perfectly  safe  here  with  so  many  servants  in  the 
house." 

"Yes,"  said  Lilith. 

"This  is  the  long  session,  as  you  are  aware,  and  Con- 
gress will  not  adjourn  before  the  first  of  June,  and 
may  not  do  so  even  then;  but  I  shall  try  to  run  down 
and  see  you  in  the  interim,  if  only  to  spend  a  Sunday. 
You  will  be  glad  to  see  me  as  an  occasional  visitor, 
mistress?"  he  inquired,  with  a  grave  smile,  putting  his 
fingers  under  her  chin  and  lifting  her  sweet,  downcast 
face.  "Look  at  me  and  answer,  Lilith!" 

"I  shall  be  very,  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  a  low  tone,  with  a  swift,  shy  glance  of  her 
dark  eyes  and  a  deepening  blush. 

"And — I  shall  be  glad  to  come  whenever  I  may  do 
so,  Lilith,"  he  said,  stooping  and  leaving  a  kiss  upon 
her  budding  red  lips. 

"Must  you  really  go  by  this  evening's  train?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"Yes,  dear,  for  I  must  be  in  my  seat  when  the  house 
meets  at  noon  to-morrow.  There  is  business  before 
the  house  in  which  I  am  deeply  interested,  and  for 
which  I  have  been  working  very  hard." 

"It  is  so  sudden.  I  did  not  think  you  were  going 
away  so  very  soon,"  she  said,  regretfully. 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  77 

"Did  you  not?  But  you  surely  knew,  dear,  that 
duty  calls  me  to  Washington." 

"  I  ought  to  have  known ;  but  I  did  not  reflect.  I  see 
now,  of  course." 

"I  have  been  absent  from  my  seat  five  days.  I  must 
not  stay  away  longer." 

"I  see — I  know;  it  is  very  sudden,  but  it  cannot  be 
helped.  Can  I  assist  you  in  getting  ready?" 

"No,  dear;  there  is  nothing  with  which  you  need 
trouble  yourself." 

"Your  valise?" 

"It  is  packed,  dear." 

"Luncheon  put  up?" 

"I  shall  not  want  any.  Leaving  Frosthill  by  the  6 
p.  M.  express,  I  shall  reach  Washington  by  9  A.  M.,  time 
enough  for  breakfast.  So,  dear,  all  that  I  shall  require 
will  be  a  substantial  tea  before  I  leave  home.  Now  I 
must  go  and  speak  to  Fielding,  and  give  him  some  in- 
structions in  regard  to  the  management  of  the  place 
during  my  absence,"  said  Mr.  Hereward,  leaving  the 
sitting-room  to  join  the  overseer,  who  was  waiting  for 
him  in  the  office,  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

Lilith  sent  one  of  the  young  housemaids  to  call 
Nancy  to  her  presence — Nancy,  to  whose  duties  of 
permanent  seamstress  and  occasional  nurse  were 
added  those  of  general  housekeeping.  The  woman 
came  in,  wearing,  as  mourning  for  her  late  master, 
what  she  called  a  "solid"  black  calico  dress,  black 
shawl,  apron  and  turban. 

"Nancy,  Mr.  Hereward  is  to  start  for  Washington 
by  the  evening  train,"  said  Lilith. 

"An'  take  you  'long  ob  him?"  inquired  the  woman. 

"Oh,  no,  it  would  not  be  expedient  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

"Wot  saecumstanches?"  demanded  the  woman, 
with  the  bluntness  of  an  old  and  esteemed  family 
servant. 


78  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"It  would  not  be  seemly  that  I,  just  married  and  in 
deep  mourning  for  the  death  of  our  father,  should  go 
to  a  hotel  in  Washington,  at  the  height  of  the  gay 
season,  where,  as  the  wife  of  a  prominent  public  man, 
I  should  be  subjected  to  remark,  whether  I  should  go 
into  company,  or  should  rigorously  seclude  myself. 
You  understand  these  things,  Nancy." 

"Fack,  honey,  I  tell  yer!  Yer's  right!  Dis  worl'  is 
wery  wicious!  But  ef  yer  can't  go,  wot  he  go  for? 
Dat  wot  I  want  to  know." 

"Of  course  Mr.  Hereward  must  return  to  his  official 
duties.  He  cannot  absent  himself  from  them.  And 
they  will  occupy  him.  He  need  not,  and  will  not, 
enter  into  society,  or  be  criticised  for  keeping  out 
of  it." 

"  Tears  to  me  as  ge'men  can  do  jes'  as  dey  pleases 
an'  ladies  can't.  'Deed  it's  de  trufe!" 

"Well,  Nancy,  I  did  not  call  you  in  to  discuss  this 
point,  but  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Hereward  will  leave 
here  at  five  to  catch  the  six  o'clock  train;  so  I  wish 
you  to  see  that  the  nicest  and  most  substantial  tea  be 
ready  for  him  at  half-past  four.  I  know  I  may  trust 
it  to  you.  Remember  that  he  will  travel  all  night." 

"I'll  'member,  Miss  Lilith!  I'll  get  young  marse  a 
staff  ob  life  wot  will  prop  him  up  till  breakfas'  time  to- 
morrow mornin';  eben  ef  he  had  to  walk  all  de  way 
f'om  Cloud  Claps  to  Washin'ton!  Le's  see,"  she  said, 
beginning  to  count  on  her  fingers;  "beefsteak — dat  de 
bes'  stan'-by  ob  all! — brile  pattridge,  poach  eggs,  rice 
cakes — " 

And  so  muttering  and  counting  she  passed  out  of 
the  room. 

Lilith  sat  down  and  waited  for  the  return  of  her 
husband,  meditating  whether  she  might  ask  him  to 
let  her  go  with  him  as  far  as  the  station  and  see  him 
off. 

Ah!  for  the  unloved  wife! 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  79 

And  yet  she  did  not  know  that  she  was  not  loved. 
Tudor  Hereward  had  asked  her  to  give  herself  to  him; 
therefore,  of  course,  he  must  have  loved  her.  This, 
without  a  thought  or  a  question,  she  had  taken  for 
granted. 

She  had  been  useful  and  indispensable  to  the  foster- 
father  who  had  passed  away.  She  had  been  the  con- 
stant companion  of  his  secluded  life.  She  had  walked 
and  driven  with  him;  and  had  read  to  him  or  sung 
his  favorite  songs,  or  talked  with  him  over  their 
favorite  books  in  the  evenings. 

He  had  often  told  her  how  much  he  hoped  that  she 
would  be  to  his  son  all  and  much  more  than  ever  she 
had  been  even  to  him.  And  he  had  praised  that  son, 
again  and  again,  to  such  a  high  degree  that  Lilith  had 
grown  to  believe  him  the  very  ideal  of  good,  wise  and 
heroic  manhood,  and  to  love,  revere  and  worship  him 
in  her  heart  as  a  demi-god. 

But  then,  the  girl  was  very  young,  and  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  world  and  of  life. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LILITH'S  FATAL  LEGACY 


No,  he  had  married  her,  therefore  he  loved  her,  and 
no  doubt  he  suffered  as  much  as  she  herself  did  in  this 
trying  separation;  though  he  did  not  show  it,  being  so 
much  stronger  and  more  self-controlled  than  she  was. 

So  ran  the  current  of  her  thoughts  through  the  two 
hours  that  she  awaited  the  return  of  her  husband. 

At  length  the  interview  with  the  overseer  ended  and 
Tudor  Hereward  entered  the  room,  his  ulster  hanging 
over  one  arm  and  his  valise  in  his  hand. 

He  glanced  at  the  clock  over  the  mantel-piece,  and 
said: 


80  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"It  is  half -past  four  and  the  sleigh  is  at  the  door, 
Lilith." 

"And  tea  is  ready,  I  know.  I  ordered  it  at  this 
hour,  and  Gassy  is  always  punctual,"  said  Lilith, 
touching  the  bell. 

"Bring  in  the  tea  immediately,"  she  said  to  the  boy 
that  answered  the  summons. 

And  then  as  they  walked  into  the  dining-room, 
Lilith  took  heart  to  ask: 

"Shall  I  go  with  you  to  the  depot,  Tudor?" 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  surprise,  and  see- 
ing the  eager  light  in  her  dark  eyes,  he  answered: 

"Certainly,  if  you  would  like  to  go,  Lilith,  but  it  is 
not  necessary,  you  know." 

"I  should  like  to  go." 

"Very  well,  then  do  so.  But  it  is  going  to  be  a  very 
cold  night,  my  dear,  and  }rou  will  be  very  late  getting 
home." 

"I  shall  not  mind  that.  I  would  rather  go — unless 
— unless — I  should — inconvenience  you,"  she  said, 
hesitatingly. 

"Not  in  the  least  degree." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  dining-room, 
where  the  table  was  set  out  with  an  appetizing  tea- 
dinner. 

She  took  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  he 
sat  down  at  the  foot. 

After  she  had  helped  him  to  everything  in  her  reach, 
she  backoned  Alick,  who  was  waiting  upon  them,  to 
come  to  her,  and  said: 

"Go  upstairs  and  ask  Nancy  to  give  you  my  fur- 
lined  cloak,  muff,  hood,  vail  and  gloves.  Bring  them 
down  and  leave  them  in  the  parlor,  and  then  fill  a 
bottle  of  hot  water  and  put  it  in  the  bottom  of  the 
sleigh." 

?he  man  went  on  his  errand  and  Lilith  poured  out  a 
cup  of  tea  and  drank  it. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  81 

Soon  after  this  they  arose  from  the  table  and  went 
into  the  parlor,  where  Tudor  Hereward  encased  him- 
self in  his  ulster  and  sealskin  cap  and  gloves,  and 
Lilith  wrapped  herself  in  all  her  furs. 

Then  they  went  out  and  took  their  seats  in  the 
sleigh,  that  was  well  furnished  with  white  bearskins, 
and  driven  by  Stephen,  who  was  as  well  defended  from 
the  freezing  cold  of  the  night  as  were  his  master  and 
mistress. 

The  ground  was  very  thickly  covered  with  frozen 
snow,  that  beamed  softly  under  the  light  of  stars 
shining  as  they  only  shine  on  clear  winter  nights. 

The  sleigh  flew  on  to  the  merry  sound  of  silvery 
bells,  down  the  larch-flanked  avenue,  and  through  the 
lodge  gate,  which  Alick,  sent  in  advance,  held  open. 

"Good  luck  to  yer,  young  marse  an'  mis'!"  he  said, 
taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  as  the  sleigh  flew  on 
through  the  gate,  over  the  frozen  fields  and  through 
the  woods  until  it  reached  the  country  road  that  led 
along  the  foot  of  the  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs,  to  the  dis- 
tant county  seat  and  railway  station  at  Frosthill. 

"Are  you  quite  warm  enough,  Lilith?"  inquired 
Tudor  Hereward,  as  he  turned  and  carefully  folded 
her  fur  circular  over  her  chest,  and  drew  up  the  bear- 
skins closely  around  her  lap. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite  comfortable,  thank  you, 
Tudor." 

"It  is  a  tremendous  night!  The  wind  in  our  faces 
cuts  like  a  razor!  Double  your  vail  over  your  faco, 
Lilith." 

"Oh,  indeed,  I  don't  mind  the  cold!  I  am  quite  us^d 
to  it!  Don't  you  remember  after  the  snow-storm  of 
the  fifteenth,  how  intensely  cold  it  was?" 

"Ah!  2  do  remember.  I  was  in  Washington.  The 
Potomac  River  froze  over  that  night." 

"Well,  Major  Hereward  and    I    went   sleigh-riding 


82  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

every  day,  and  we  played  at  snow-balling  after  we 
came  home!" 

"You  and  my  father!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hereward, 
turning  around  and  looking  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  she  said,  proudly. 

"Snow-balling!" 

"Oh,  yes!  we  used  to  play  snow-balling  on  the  lawn 
every  winter  that  I  was  at  home  as  long  as — as  far 
back  as — I  can  remember.  Didn't  you  know  that?" 

"No,  indeed  I  did  not!  I  knew  that  you,  on  occasion, 
made  yourself  into  a  little  old  woman  to  adapt  your- 
self to  his  tastes  in  his  reading  and  other  things;  but 
—I  had  no  idea  that  he  ever  became  a  boy  to  adapt 
himself  to  you!" 

"Oh,  indeed  there  was  no  question  of  youth  or  age 
between  us!  We  were  fast  friends  and  good  comrades 
in  everything.  I  enjoyed  reading  his  grave  books  as 
much  as  he  did  hearing  them.  And  I  know  that  he 
liked  to  sleigh  and  skate  and  play  snow-ball  just  as 
well  as  I  did!  We  were  good  comrades  always!" 

"It  seems  that  I  have  much  to  learn  of  your  life 
with  my  father,  Lilith!" 

"Oh,  yes,  and  I  shall  like  so  much  to  tell  you!  For, 
of  course,  when  you  were  at  school  and  at  college,  you 
could  not  know  how  we  were  employing  or  amusing 
ourselves  at  home,"  she  answered,  simply. 

The  sleigh  flew  on  with  such  speed  that  already  the 
lights  of  the  railway  station  gleamed  before  them  in 
the  distance. 

In  ten  more  minutes  they  were  at  the  station,  and 
only  just  in  time,  with  not  a  minute  to  spare. 

"Do  not  attempt  to  get  out,  Lilith.  I  shall  have  to 
make  a  rush  for  the  ticket-office  and  then  for  the  train. 
Good-bye,  my  dear!  Take  care  of  yourself!  I  shall 
write  from  Washington,"  he  said,  hurriedly  leaving 
the  sleigh,  after  he  had  carefully  tucked  the  bear- 
skins around  her,  but — forgetting  to  kiss  her. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  83 

She  watched  him  yearningly  as  he  ran  across  the 
open  space  and  into  the  ticket-office.  She  saw  him 
emerge  in  half  a  minute  and  jump  on  board  the  train, 
just  as  the  huge  monster  snorted  out  of  the  station. 
She  watched  the  train  rush  on  until  it  was  swallowed 
up  by  the  forest  on  the  horizon,  and  then  she  gave 
the  order  to  her  coachman  to  drive  home. 

Lilith  felt  disappointed,  desolate  and  depressed  as 
she  entered  her  home. 

Nancy  opened  the  door  and  Lilith  entered  her 
chamber. 

A  roaring  fire  in  the  broad  chimney-place  lighted  up 
the  whole  room,  so  that  it  needed  no  other  light.  A 
large,  deep-cushioned  easy-chair  stood  before  the  fire, 
with  a  footstool  on  the  rug  below  it.  Over  the  back  of 
the  chair  hung  a  wadded  silk  wrapper,  and  on  the 
footstool  lay  a  pair  of  wadded  velvet  slippers. 

"Come,  set  right  down  here  now,  an'  le'  me  tak'  off 
yer  fings  an'  make  yer  right  comfo'ble,"  said  Nancy, 
seating  her  young  mistress  in  the  easy-chair  and  begin- 
ning to  remove  her  outer  garments. 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  exclaimed  Lilith,  when  her 
dress  had  been  changed  for  the  warm,  loose  wrapper, 
and  she  was  reposing  at  ease  among  her  cushions. 

"An'  now  le'  me  take  off  yer  boots  an'  put  dese 
warm  slippers  on  yer  feet.  An'  now,  honey,  sip  yer 
hot  mulled  wine  an'  yer'll  be  all  right!"  concluded 
the  woman,  pouring  the  rich,  spicy  cordial  from  the 
pitcher  into  a  cut-glass  mug  and  handing  it  to  the 
chilled  girl. 

"Oh,  Nancy,  dear  heart,  how  good  you  are  to  me! 
How  careful  and  considerate!  Like  a  very  mother! 
Nancy,  did  you  know  my  parents?"  gently  inquired 
Lilith. 

"Know  um,  honey?  No,  I  didn't  know  um  ob  my 
own  se'f.  I  nebber  seed  neider  ob  um  in  my  life! 
But  I  heerd  about  um,  arter  dey  was  bofe  gone  to 


84  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

glory,  an'  I  nebber  heerd  nuffin  but  good  about  bofe 
ob  um." 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  you  heard,  Nancy?" 

"Well,  it  wasn't  much,  'caze  nobody  knowed  much 
ob  um,  'caze  dey  lib  so  s'cluded,  yer  see.  But  wot  I  did 
hear  was  all  good.  Dey  bofe  was  much  'spected.  Dey 
'longed  to  de  church,  an'  I  hope  it  was  de  right  one, 
for  deir  sakes.  Anyways,  de  parson  fought  a  heap  ob 
um,  so  de  neighbors  said.  An'  w'en  de  sexton  went 
'way  Wes',  to  make  a  fortin,  parson  offered  sexton's 
place  to  him,  yer  own  fader,  honey.  But  yer  fader 
'clined  de  office  on  'count  ob  libin'  near  de  grabeyard 
might  hab  a  'pressin'  'feet  on  de  sperrits  ob  yer 
mudder,  honey.  So  de  neighbors  said.  An'  dey 
fought  how  it  was  so  noble  ob  yer  po'  fader  to  'cline 
sich  a  easy  place  an'  good  pay  jus'  on  'count  ob  a 
nerbous  'oman's  sperrits,  w'en  he  had  to  work  so  hard 
at  sich  low  wages  for  deir  libbin',  too." 

The  next  morning  a  furious  snow-storm  was  raging 
outside — nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  whirling 
white  flakes  driven  thickly  against  the  windows. 
Lilith  stepped  out  of  bed,  thrust  her  feet  into  slippers, 
her  arms  into  the  sleeves  of  her  warm  wadded 
wrapper,  and  went  to  the  window  to  look  out. 

No,  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  wild  whirl  of  snow. 

At  breakfast  Nancy  inquired: 

"Does  yer  memorize  as  dis  is  Ole  Christmas  Day, 
Miss  Lilith?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"An'  yer  was  'wited  to  a  party  at  ole  Missus  Jor- 
dan's dis  ebenin'?" 

"Yes;  but  of  course  the  family  know  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"Couldn't  help  knowin'!  But  who'd  'a'  fought  it 
'fo'hand?  But  dere,  I  ain't  a-gwine  to  talk  'bout  dat 
'pressing  subject.  How  yer  gwine  'muse  yerse'f  to- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  85 

day,  Miss  Lilith?  'Deed  I's  feared  yer'll  be  awful  lone- 
some. Wot  yen  gwine  do,  anyway?" 

"I  shall  look  over  the  contents  of  a  trunk  which  was 
brought  away  from  my  dear  parents'  home,  after  their 
death." 

"Yer  nebber  see  inter  de  inside  ob  dat  trunk,  Miss 
Lilith?" 

"No,  never.    Did  you,  Nancy?" 

"Hi,  honey,  I  packed  it  myse'f,  under  de  ole 
mnrster's  'rection,  same  day  I  went  to  Sea  wood  to 
fetch  you  away.  Law!  wot  a  little,  deliky  slip  ob  a 
baby  you  was  den!" 

Leaving  Nancy  to  clear  away  the  table,  Lilith  went 
up  two  flights  of  stairs  and  reached  the  old-fashioned 
garret,  that  contained  but  one  large  room,  which  occu- 
pied the  whole  of  that  floor  and  was  lighted  by  four 
large  dormer  windows — two  on  each  side,  and  four 
other  windows — two  at  each  end.  All  the  windows  on 
the  north  and  west  sides  were  blockaded  with  snow. 
The  garret  was  the  receptacle  for  all  the  broken  and 
disused  furniture,  boxes,  barrels,  rag-bags  and  trunks. 
It  was  the  rubbish  room,  or  "Chamber  of  Desolation, " 
which  every  large  homestead  is  bound  to  possess. 
Lilith  soon  discovered  the  trunk  in  question.  Lying 
up  against  it — half  concealing  it — was  an  old  spin- 
ning-wheel, a  child's  high  chair  and  a  reel.  Lilith's 
first  thought  had  been  to  open  the  trunk  on  the  spot, 
but  the  intense  cold  of  the  garret  seemed  to  penetrate 
to  her  heart,  and  her  hands  became  numb  and  icy. 
The  outside  of  the  trunk,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  the 
articles  in  the  garret,  was  covered  with  dust  and  cob- 
webs. 

So  upon  the  whole  Lilith  decided  to  go  downstairs 
and  send  one  of  the  men-servants  up  to  brush,  the 
trunk  and  bring  it  down  into  her  bedroom. 

So  she  went  below  and  gave  directions  to  this  effect, 
and  then  entered  her  chamber  to  await  its  arrival. 


86  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

In  a  few  minutes  Alick  came  in,  bringing  the  trunk 
on  his  strong  shoulders.  He  set  it  down  on  the  floor 
before  his  mistress,  bowed  respectfully  and  left  the 
room. 

Lilith  drew  the  key  from  her  pocket  and  arose  and 
knelt  down  before  the  trunk — a  very  old-fashioned 
black  hair  trunk  about  three  feet  long  by  two  broad 
and  high,  and  with  the  owner's  initials,  J.  W.,  in 
large  brass-headed  tacks. 

It  had  been  very  thoroughly  brushed,  so  that  not  a 
fibre  of  cobweb  or  a  grain  of  dust  was  left  on  it. 

Lilith,  with  an  interest  entirely  free  from  any  mis- 
giving, put  the  key  in  the  lock  and  tried  to  turn  it. 
But  the  rusty  lock  at  first  resisted  all  her  efforts.  Oh, 
that  the  key  had  been  broken  in  the  ward,  with  no 
locksmith  in  the  neighborhood  to  remedy  the  accident! 

Had  Major  Hereward  known  what  that  discovery 
would  be  to  Lilith  he  would  have  burned  the  trunk  and 
its  contents  rather  than  that  it  should  ever  have  fallen 
into  Lilith's  hands  to  blight  her  life,  and  he  would 
have  consigned  Lilith  herself  to  an  asylum  or  left  her 
to  his  son's  charity  rather  than  ever  have  made  her 
his  son's  wife. 

But  in  truth  he  neither  knew  nor  suspected  that 
there  could  be  anything  in  that  collection  of 
memorials  fraught  with  disaster  or  danger  to  Lilith. 
What  could  there  have  been,  indeed?  He  had  super- 
intended the  packing,  locking  and  sealing  of  the 
trunk,  with  all  its  parcels  of  letters  and  papers  intact, 
tied  up  as  they  had  been  left  after  the  death  of 
Lilith's  mother.  He  would  have  thought  it  desecra- 
tion to  have  disturbed  them,  and  so,  ignorantly  and 
unconsciously,  he  left  them  to  ruin  the  peace  of  his 
innocent  and  beloved  daughter. 

Lilith  at  length  succeeded  in  turning  the  key  in  the 
harsh,  rusty  old  lock,  and  raising  the  lid  by*its  stiff 
hinges,  with  a  feeling  of  pensive  pleasure  in  the  an- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  87 

ticipation  of  looking  into  the  past  life  of  her  dear 
father  and  mother,  and  with  no  foreboding  that  she 
was  on  the  brink  of  an  appalling  discovery. 


CHAPTER  IX 


A  FAINT  odor  of  embalming  spices,  which  had  nearly 
lost  their  strength,  pervaded  the  interior.  Lilith 
turned  away  her  head  from  the  sickly  aroma  to  get  a 
breath  of  purer  air,  and  then  she  took  off  the  coarse 
brown  wrapping  paper  that  lay  over  the  contents,  and 
exposed  to  view  several  thin  muslin  bags  of  sweet 
herbs  and  berries;  a  neatly-folded  white  muslin  dress, 
which  seemed  to  have  been  put  away  when  quite  new; 
a  pair  of  white  kid  slippers  wrapped  in  tissue  paper; 
white  kid  gloves  similarly  done  up;  a  small  white 
paste-board  box  which,  on  being  opened,  was  found  to 
contain  a  spray  of  orange  flowers  and  a  set  of  white 
carnelian  earrings  and  breast-pin. 

Lilith  took  these  out  one  by  one,  reverently  pressing 
each  article  to  her  lips  before  she  laid  it  down  on  the 
carpet. 

Then  she  lifted  another  layer  of  brown  paper  and 
more  thin  spice  bags,  and  found  beneath  them  what 
seemed  to  be  the  Sunday  clothes  of  a  young  workman: 
a  coat  and  a  pair  of  pantaloons  of  navy  blue;  a  vest  of 
white  jeans  and  gloves  of  white  doeskin — all  of  which, 
probably,  formed  the  wedding  suit  of  the  young 
father;  and  must  have  been  put  away  while  still  quite 
new. 

She  took  off  a  third  layer  of  brown  paper  and  still 
more  thin  bags  of  spices,  and  revealed  a  sort  of  floor  of 
books.  These  she  began  to  take  out  and  lay  upon  the 


88  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

carpet — two   pocket   Bibles;   two    prayer-books;   twox 
hymnals,  all  well  thumbed;  a  PXgrim's  Progress,  Bax- 
ter's Saint's  Rest,  Medical  Guide,  Cook's  Companion, 
and  six  volumes  of  Sherwood's  Lady  of  the  Manor. 

She  took  the  first  Bible  in  her  hand  and  turned  to 
the  fly-leaf  to  see  if  there  were  any  writing  on  it.  She 
found  this,  written  in  a  very  clear,  fine  hand:  "Josepk 
Wyvil,  Rockton,  Yorkshire." 

She  kissed  the  name,  her  father's  name,  probably 
written  by  her  father's  hand.  She  laid  aside  the  book 
and  took  up  the  second  Bible,  turned  to  the  fly-leaf 
and  read  simply:  "Elizabeth,  from  Joseph." 

She  laid  aside  this  book  also  and  took  up  the  others 
in  turn.  Each  and  all  bore  the  name  of  Joseph  or  of 
Elizabeth  Wyvil,  and  sometimes  the  names  of  both,  as 
when  the  book  was  the  gift  of  one  to  the  other. 

The  removal  of  the  fourth  layer  of  brown  paper  and 
spice  bags  discovered  many  parcels  neatly  tied  up  and 
arranged. 

The  first  that  Lilith  laid  her  hands  on  proved  to  be  a 
flat  tin  box,  similar  to  those  used  by  druggists  to  pack 
seidlitz  powders.  Lilith  opened  this  and  found  two 
photographs  in  little  frames.  The  top  one  represented 
a  boy  of  perhaps  seventeen  years  of  age,  in  a  sailor's 
suit,  and  having  a  curly  head  of  hair,  a  fine  open  fore- 
head, laughing  eyes  and  a  careless,  joyous  air. 

Lilith  smiled  involuntarily  into  the  laughing  eyes, 
and  gazed  delightedly  on  the  joyous  face. 

Then  she  took  up  the  second  photograph,  a  double 
picture  representing  a  young  man  and  young  woman, 
standing  with  their  hands  clasped.  The  young  man 
wore  a  dark  dress  coat  and  pantaloons  and  a  white 
vest.  The  young  woman  wore  a  white  dress  and  a 
spray  of  white  flowers  in  her  black  hair. 

"This,"  said  Lilith,  gazing  fondly  on  the  photograph, 
"must  be  a  picture  of  my  dear  father  and  mother, 
taken  on  their  wedding  day!  I  must  be  the  fac-siniile 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  89 

of  what  mj  dear  little  mother  was  on  that  day.  Even 
I  can  see  the  likeness  I  bear  to  her.  But  my  father! 
What  a  grand,  grave,  heroic  face  is  his!  It  might  be 
the  face  of  the  young  St.  John  when  he  followed  the 
Saviour  to  Mount  Calvary!  But  I  must  have  been 
mistaken  in  the  identity  of  that  bright,  laughing-eyed 
boy.  He  never  could  have  been  my  father,  photo- 
graphed at  an  earlier  age,  for  his  bright  gypsy  coun- 
tenance never  could  have  developed  into  this  noble, 
saintly  expression.  And  there  is  not  in  the  two  faees 
a  single  feature  alike.  There  was  no  name  on  the 
boy's  picture;  let  me  see  if  there  is  any  on  this." 

She  slipped  the  picture  card  from  out  of  its  frame 
and  read  on  its  back,  "Joseph  and  Elizabeth  Wyvil." 

"I  was  right.  These  are  my  parents,  of  course.  The 
other — I  do  not  know  who  the  other  could  have  been; 
some  relation,  I  suppose,  though  he  is  not  the  least 
like  either  father  or  mother,  but  as  different  from  both 
as  it  is  possible  for  one  human  creature  to  be  from 
another. 

Lilith  pressed  the  double  picture  to  her  heart  and  to 
her  lips,  and  gazed  at  it  long  and  fixedly,  but  not 
smilingly  as  into  the  smiling  eyes  of  the  boy's  pho- 
tograph. 

Finally  she  returned  both  pictures  to  their  box. 

"My  parents  may  have  been  poor,  hard-working 
people,  but  they  were  pious,  refined  and  intellectual. 
They  certainly  were!  So  much  I  have  discovered  so 
far!  Now  let  me  see  what  their  letters  will  teach  me 
of  their  inner — yes,  and  of  their  outer  life!  And 
whether  they  will  tell  me  anything  about  this  wild, 
handsome,  harum-scarum  boy,"  said  Lilith,  as  she  took 
the  packets  of  old  letters — four  packets  in  all — from 
the  bottom  of  the  trunk. 

These  she  placed  upon  a  little  stand,  near  her  rock- 
ing-chair. 

Then  she  carefully  returned  all  the  contents  of  the 


90  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

trunk,  arranging  them  in  the  order  in  which  they  had 
first  been  packed,  shut  and  locked  it,  and  dragged  it 
away  to  the  small  adjoining  room  that  opened  from 
her  chamber  into  the  back  of  the  hall,  as  the  dressing- 
closet  opened  from  Major  Hereward's  chamber  into 
the  front  of  the  hall. 

She  closed  the  door,  seated  herself  in  the  rocking- 
chair  before  the  fire,  and  took  up  the  packets  of 
letters,  one  after  another,  to  examine  them.  The  cor- 
respondence seemed  to  cover  a  period  of  four  years. 
Each  packet  was  marked  with  the  date  of  one  year. 
She  took  up  the  first,  untied  it  and  scattered  half  a 
dozen  letters  over  the  table. 

All  these  letters  were  old,  the  paper  yellow  with 
age,  the  ink  faded  with  time.  All  bore  foreign  post- 
marks, as  Gibraltar,  Spezzia,  Constantinople,  Calcutta, 
Halifax,  Baltimore,  Rio  Janeiro,  Valparaiso. 

They  were  all  addressed  to  Mr.  Joseph  Wyvil,  Rock- 
ton,  Yorkshire,  England. 

Lilith  looked  at  the  greeting,  and  turned  to  the  sig- 
nature before  reading  the  body  of  the  letters.  All  be- 
gan "Dear  Coz,"  and  ended  "Your  loving  Jo." 

Evidently  these  letters  were  all  written  by  that 
jolly,  rollicking  sailor-boy,  while  on  his  long  cruises, 
to  his  cousin,  Joseph  Wyvil.  In  reading  the  letters, 
Lilith  came  upon  several  descriptions  of  "larks"  and 
"scrapes,"  into  which  the  wild  lad  had  been  tempted 
and  had  fallen.  None  of  them  were  vicious  or  crim- 
inal; many  of  them  were  practical  jokes,  all  mis- 
chievous, some  dangerous.  How  Lilith's  heart  weut 
out  to  that  wild  sailor-boy,  in  spite  of  all  his  mad-cap 
pranks! 

His  letters  were  not  long,  never  covering  more  than 
one  sheet  of  note-paper,  and  there  were  no  more  than 
six  in  the  first  packet. 

Lilith  soon  got  through  with  them  all,  tied  them  up 
neatly,  and  then  opened  the  second  parcel.  This,  also, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  91 

contained  but  six  letters  written  two  years  later,  from 
another  quarter  of  the  globe,  by  the  same  "Jo,"  to  the 
same  Joseph  Wyvil,  and  describing  even  madder 
"larks"  and  graver  "scrapes"  than  ever  before,  and 
petitioning  more  earnestly  that  "Lil  should  not  be 
told." 

These,  in  like  manner,  Lilith  read  with  interest,  and, 
after  reading,  tied  up  with  care. 

She  took  up  the  third  packet,  which  contained  but 
four  letters,  written  by  "Jo":  one  to  Mr.  Joseph  Wyvil 
and  three  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wyvil — evidently  the 
"Lil"  of  the  preceding  years.  But  these  letters  were 
not  from  foreign  ports.  They  were  all  post-marked  on 
the  outside,  Carlisle,  Cumberland,  and  dated  on  the 
inside  from — 

WHAT  WAS  THAT? 

Lilith's  glance  was  arrested  by  a  single  word — a 
word  fraught  with  sin  and  sorrow.  She  gazed  with 
dilated  eyes  and  parted  lips  until  every  vestige  of 
color  died  out  from  her  face,  leaving  it  with  the 
ghastly  pallor  of  death. 

Sick  and  trembling  with  shame  and  fear,  she  began 
to  read  that  fatal  letter,  and  as  she  read,  every 
thought  and  feeling  were  submerged  in  an  overwhelm- 
ing flood  of  horror  and  despair!  She  yielded  to  the 
deadly  fascination  of  reading  the  three  remaining 
letters,  only  to  suffer  the  tortures  of  a  lost  soul  as 
she  learned  the  secret  history  of  a  sin,  an  expiation, 
a  devotion  and  self-martyrdom  forming  a  tragedy  sel- 
dom equaled  in  terror,  pathos  arid  anguish!  In  a  col- 
lapse of  agony  she  threw  her  arms  over  the  top  of  the 
little  table,  dropped  her  head  upon  it  and  groaned 
aloud.  She  could  not  shed  a  tear.  But  she  lay  bowed 
down  and  groaning,  and  sometimes  wailing  forth  a 
word  or  a  broken  sentence  that  seemed  to  burst  from 
her  overcharged  heart. 

"Oh,  merciful  Father,  if  it  be  possible,  take  me  from 


92  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

this  world  now  and  here!  Oh,  I  cannot  bear  it!  lean- 
not  bear  it !  The  daughter  of  a — of  a — oh,  I  cannot — 
cannot  speak  the  shameful  word! 

"Major  Hereward  could  never  have  known!  No,  he 
could  never  have  known!  Or  he  would  never  have 
allowed  his  son  to  marry  me!  Ah,  why  did  he  not  look 
over  those  letters — those  fatal  letters?  Then  he  would 
have  known.  Then  he  would  not  have  wished  to  unile 
his  son  to  such  a  deep  dishonor  as  mine! 

"Or,  why  had  not  my  poor  mother  had  the  use  of  her 
speech  in  that  dying  hour,  when  she  gave  me  into 
Major  Bereward's  charge,  that  she  might  have  told 
him  the  truth?  Oh,  if  I  could  go  hence  and  be  no 
more!  Oh,  what  a  future  to  face,  if  I  must  live! 

"I  ought  to  tell  my  husband!  I  ought  not  to  keep 
anything  from  him!  But  how  can  I  tell  him?  How 
can  I  expose  my  own  grievous  humiliation,  and  over- 
whelm him  also  with  grief  and  mortification? 

"Oh,  if  I  knew  what  to  do!  If  there  were  any  of 
whom  I  could  seek  counsel!  But  I  have  no  one!  Not 
a  friend  in  the  world  to  whom  I  dare  to  tell  this  tale!" 

Her  head  sank  upon  her  breast.  Then  there  flowed 
in  upon  her  suffering  spirit  the  memory  of  words  that 
come  like  oil  upon  troubled  waters — "Come  unto  Me." 

She  raised  her  face,  with  a  new  light  upon  it. 

"Not  a  friend  in  the  world!  No,  but  above! — 
Above  is  the  Friend  of  sinners!  The  Friend  of  suffer- 
ers as  well!  I  will  go  to  Him." 

She  sank  down  upon  the  floor,  and  with  her  head 
dropped  on  the  seat  of  her  chair,  she  bowred  her  spirit 
before  Him  who  bids  us  to  come  and  lay  our  burdens 
at  His  feet. 

An  hour  later  there  came  a  knock  at  the  chamber 
door.  Nancy  stood  there  with  her  arms  full  of  hickory 
logs. 

"I  come  to  ax  yer.  Miss  Lilith,  ef  yer  didn't  want 
some  wood  put  on  de  fire.  It's  moughty  cole,  an' 


93 

snowin*  an'  blowin'  wuss  dan  ebber.  'Deed,  I  reckon 
how  all  de  roads'll  be  blocked  'fo'  night,  I  do  so.  Hi, 
chile,  wot  yer  let  yer  fire  get  so  low  fer?  'Deed,  I 
calls  it  flyin'  in  de  face.  W'y  didn'  yer  call  me?"  in- 
quired the  woman,  as  she  went  to  the  chimney-place 
and  piled  the  logs  on  the  smouldering  brands. 

When  she  had  succeeded  in  raising  a  bright  flame, 
she  turned  and  looked  at  her  mistress  for  the  first  time 
since  entering  the  room.  She  was  startled  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  young  lady. 

"Hi,  Miss  Lilith,  wot  de  matter  wid  yer?"  she  de- 
manded, in  alarm. 

"I  am  not  well,  Nancy." 

"I  can  see  dat  much  myse'f.  You'se  as  pale  as  a 
ghose.  An'  tremblin'  all  ober  like  yer  had  an  ager. 
An',  I  'clare,  yer  fingers  feels  like  frozen  icicles,"  said 
the  woman,  unceremoniously  taking  her  mistress' 
hand. 

"Never  mind.  I  shall  be  warmer  presently,  Nancy," 
said  Lilith,  as  she  sank  again  into  her  chair. 

"I  dunno  'bout  dat.  'Taint  on'y  as  yer  cold;*yer's 
sick  all  ober.  I  can  see.  Tell  yer  wot,  Miss  Lilith,  yer 
gone  and  done  two  very  imprudent  fings.  Las'  night 
yer  went  t'rough  all  dat  drefful  cole  win'  six  miles 
away  to  de  tepot  long  ob  young  marse.  An  's  ef  dat 
warn't  nuff  to  kill  yer,  now  yer  mus'  go  an'  rum- 
midge  ober  a  ole  trunk  wot  has  been  shet  up  for  six- 
teen or  sebenteen  year.  Now  'fess  de  trufe,  Miss 
Lilith,  warn't  dat  wot  made  yer  sick?" 

"The  trunk  had  something  to  do  with  it.  But  never 
mind  me,  Nancy." 

"Dar,  I  knowed  it!"  exclaimed  the  woman,  ignoring 
the  last  clause  in  the  young  lady's  reply.  "I  knowed 
it  was  de  nasty  fix  air  in  dat  ole  trunk.  I  dunno  wot 
de  ole  marse  ebber  had  it  pack  up  fer.  'Deed,  doan 
I.  I  fink  w'en  people  goes  to  glory,  to  be  'rayed  in 
white  rainbows  an'  goolden  harps,  deir  yethly  close — 


94  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

wot  ain't  no  better  'an  filt'y  rags  'pared  to  de  heb- 
benly  robes — ought  to  be  'stributed  to  de  po',  an'  not 
be  kep'  for  keepsakes,  an'  pack  away  in  trunks  to  hoi' 
fix  air,  to  p'ison  de  fus  one  as  opens  it.  'Deed,  I  calls 
it  flyin'  in  de  face  ob  de  word.  I  do  so.  Now,  honey, 
dinner's  mos'  ready  to  go  on  de  fable.  I  gwine  down 
to  see  it  put  on  now." 

"I  do  not  want  any  dinner,  thank  you,  Nancy." 

"Not  want  any  dinner?  Well,  I  call  dat  flyin' — wuss 
flyin'  dan  t'oder.  W'y,  Miss  Lilith,  Aunt  Cassy's 
made  some  ob  de  bessest  chickun  broff  as  ebber  yer 
tasted." 

"I  really  could  not  take  any,  Nancy." 

"Umph!  Humph!  Dat  nasty  fix  air  in  dat  trunk!  1 
knows  how  it  is  myse'f.  W'y,  honey,  w'en  I  goes  to 
unpack  de  winter  fings  in  de  fall  ob  de  year,  de  fix  air 
mos'  knocks  me  down,  an'  gibs  me  a  pain  in  my  nose, 
w'ich  'fo'  night  sure  to  turn  to  a  sick  headache.  An' 
dem  on'y  pack  up  fer  fibe  or  six  mont's.  An'  dis  yere 
ole  trunk  ob  yern  pack  up  fo'  sixteen  or  sebenteen 
years.  An'  yer  to  open  it!  I  wish  ole  marse  had 
burnt  all  de  trash  up  'fo'  he  ebber  lef  it  here." 

"I  almost  wish  so,  too,"  burst  involuntarily  from  the 
lips  of  Lilith. 

"Fac'  yer  do,  honey.  An'  in  de  right  of  it,  too.  Now 
look  yere,  chile,  yer  got  to  take  somefin'.  Yer  mus'n' 
go  'dout  eatin'.  It's  flyin',  yer  know.  Now  I  gwine 
get  yer  a  cup  o  'tea  an'  a  roun'  ob  toas'.  Yer  can  eat 
dat  w'en  yer  can't  eat  nuffin  else.  Can't  yer  now?" 

"Yes,  Nancy,"  replied  Lilith,  speaking  rather  to 
satisfy  the  woman  than  from  any  other  motive. 

As  soon  as  Nancy  had  left  the  room  Lilith  gathered 
up  all  the  venomed  letters  and  held  them  over  the  fire, 
meaning  to  burn  them ;  but  then,  with  that  strange  re- 
luctance which  some  people  feel  to  burn  even  the  most 
compromising  and  dangerous  letters,  she  paused,  hesi- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  95 

tated,  and  finally  went  and  locked  them  in  the 
memorial  trunk. 

In  a  short  time  Nancy  came  in  with  a  fragrant  cup 
of  tea  and  a  dainty  round  of  toast,  all  served  in  fine 
china,  on  a  little  silver  waiter. 

She  set  this  on  the  little  marble-topped  stand  and 
coaxed  Lilith  to  come  and  try  to  eat  and  drink. 

And  to  satisfy  her  Lilith  did  so,  Nancy  watching 
jealously  lest  she  should  not  do  full  justice  to  the 
repast. 

"Feel  better  now,  don't  yer,  young  mist'ess?"  said 
the  woman,  as  she  lifted  the  waiter  with  the  empty 
china  to  take  it  away. 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  replied  Lilith. 

"Ah!  so  much  fer  me  makin'  yer  do  it!  Dunno  wot 
yer'd  do  'dout  me  to  look  arter  yer.  Yer'd  be  allers 
flyin'." 

And  with  this  valedictory  Nancy  left  the  room,  tak- 
ing the  waiter  with  her. 

Lilith  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  floor.  She 
could  not  be  still.  Even  the  room  seemed  too  con- 
fined for  her. 

She  walked  out  into  the  hall  and  paced  up  and  down 
its  whole  length.  The  doors  of  the  little  dressing- 
rooms  at  each  end  of  the  hall  were  open,  and  the  front 
and  back  windows  uncurtained,  so  that,  turn  in  which 
direction  she  might,  the  whirling  snow-storm  met  her 
view. 

But  the  hall  was  icy  cold.  These  remote  old  country 
houses  may  boast  roaring  wood  fires  in  the  open  chim- 
neys of  the  living-rooms  during  winter,  but  they  have 
no  furnaces,  no  registers,  and  so  their  vacant  apart- 
ments and  halls  and  passages  are  freezingly  cold. 

The  icy  air  soon  drove  Lilith  back  to  her  chamber, 
where  she  sat  hovering  over  the  fire  and  congratulat- 
ing herself  upon  one  circumstance — that  the  snow- 
f.torm,  and  its  sure  result  of  blockaded  country  roads, 


96  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

must  prevent  her  well-meaning  neighbors  from  coming 
to  pay  those  duty  visits  of  sympathy  which  are  so  very 
trying  to  grieved  hearts. 

"What  a  worthless  life  is  mine!  I  ought  to  be  doing 
something  now;  and  here  I  sit  idle.  But  what  can  I 
do?  Something,  certainly!  I  must  try  to  find  out 
what.  Something  to  be  of  service  to  somebody,  and 
to  drive  away  the  haunting  thoughts  of  that  dreadful 
past!" 

"Miss  Lilith,  honey,  there's  a  ge'man  in  de  parlor 
wot  axes  to  see  yer,  pertickalar." 

It  was  again  the  voice  of  the  colored  attendant  that 
broke  upon  the  self-communings  of  the  young  lady. 

"A  gentleman,  Nancy?"  inquired  Lilith,  looking  up 
with  surprise. 

"Yes,  honey,  a  nice-lookin'  ge'man  as  ebber  I  see!" 

"In  such  a  storm  as  this!  What  is  his  name, 
Nancy?" 

"Wot  is  his  name  ag'in?  Le's  see  now,  wot  is  it 
ag'in?  Wr'y,  I  dunno  as  he  telled  me,  arter  all!  But 
I  reckon  as  it's  here  on  dis  bit  ob  ticket,  honey,"  said 
the  woman,  presenting  a  visiting  card. 

Lilith  took  it  and  read,  "Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon." 

"  'Ancillon?'  I  don't  know  that  name!  I  think  I 
cannot  see  him,  Nancy.  Go  and  beg  him  to  excuse  me." 

"Oh,  Miss  Lilith,  honey!  doan  yer  dis'p'int  a  wisiter 
as  come  t'rough  all  dis  drefful  storm  to  see  yer!  Doan 
do  it,  honey!  It's  flyin!  'Deed  it  is,"  said  the  woman. 

Lilith  also  thought  it  would  be  almost  too  cruel  to 
repulse  a  visitor  who  had  braved  such  desperate 
weather  to  call  at  the  house.  Besides,  he  might  be 
collecting  for  some  charitable  object.  So,  on  the 
whole,  she  decided  to  see  him. 

"I  will  go  down.  Where  have  you  left  this  gentle- 
man, Nancy?" 

"Inter  de  little  parlor  w'ere  dere's  a  great  big  fire 
a-burnin'.  Did  yer  fink  as  I  was  gwine  to  denounce 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  97 

him  into  de  cole  drawin'-roora  to  freeze  to  deaf  w'ile  he 
was  waitin'  fer  yer?  No,  indeed,  dat  would  'a'  been 
flyin'!" 

"Go,  Nancy,  and  tell  the  gentleman  I  will  be  down 
in  a  few  minutes." 

The  woman  left  the  room  to  deliver  the  message. 

Lilith  smoothed  her  curly  black  hair,  changed  her 
white  flannel  wrapper  for  a  black  bombazine  dress 
trimmed  with  crape,  and  went  downstairs. 

She  opened  the  door  of  the  little  parlor,  her  own 
usual  sitting-room,  and  entered. 

There  was  a  gentleman  dressed  in  black,  standing 
with  his  back  towards  the  door,  looking  through  the 
opposite  window  upon  the  whirling  snow-storm  with- 
out. Lilith  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  of  medium 
height,  slender  figure  and  graceful  carriage,  with  a 
jine  head  of  curling  black  hair. 

As  she  crossed  the  room  he  turned  to  meet  her,  and 
she  stood  confronted  with  THE  ORIGINAL  OF  THE 
SAILOR  BOY'S  PHOTOGRAPH! 


CHAPTER  X 

A   FAMILY    CRANK 

To  explain  the  sudden  advent  of  a  stranger  at  Cloud- 
Capped  Cliffs  we  must  go  back  a  day  or  two  in  time 
and  mile  or  two  in  space.  That  is  to  say,  we  must  go 
to  the  day  after  Major  Hereward's  funeral  and  to  the 
manor-house  known  as  Eushmore  Lodge. 

This  Rushmore  Lodge  was  a  fine  old  place  that  had 
been  for  centuries  in  the  possession  of  the  Hilaries. 

The  last  possessor  had  been  a  Mr.  Rufus  Hilary, 
who,  having  been  crossed  in  love,  forswore  women  and 
lived  a  bachelor  until  the  age  of  ninety-seven,  when 
(he  died,  leaving  the  whole  of  his  estate  to  his  nephew 


98  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

and  namesake,  young  Rufus  Hilary,  the  sole  son  of 
Lis  only  brother. 

The  latter  had  married  late  in  life  a  young  widow 
with  several  children,  both  boys  and  girls,  and  had 
died  at  an  advanced  age,  leaving  but  the  one  son. 

Rufus  Hilary's  mother  was  a  woman  with  a  strange 
proclivity  for  capturing  and  converting  wealthy  and 
confirmed  old  bachelors.  This  was  her  specialty,  and 
as  much  so  as  it  is  the  sparrow-hawk's  to  strike  down 
the  sparrow. 

Her  first  husband,  the  father  of  all  those  boys  and 
girls,  had  been  a  rich  old  bachelor,  the  senior  partner 
in  the  great  firm  of  Miles  &  Miles,  Exporters  of 
Tobacco,  Baltimore. 

Her  second  husband,  the  father  of  Rufus  Hilary, 
had  been  another  old  bachelor. 

And  her  present  husband  had  been  another  and  a 
more  incorrigible  old  bachelor  than  all  the  others — a 
"slovenly,  unhandsome"  old  bachelor,  with  bad  man- 
ners, and  a  worse  temper,  who  snarled  at  heaven  and 
earth  in  general,  and  railed  at  women  in  particular  as 
a  most  grievous,  aggravating  and  deplorable  after- 
thought of  the  Creator. 

This  amiable  and  attractive  person  was  generally 
known  in  the  neighborhood  as  "Old  Jab,"  and  his 
name  was  synonymous  with  everything  that  was 
weird,  fearful  and  repulsive. 

But,  he  was  also  known  as  Mr.  Jabez  Jordon,  of 
Broad  Manors,  the  wealthiest  landed  proprietor  in  the 
neighborhood,  without  a  near  relative  in  the  world 
to  inherit  his  estate,  and  the  most  intimate  friend  and 
dearest  chum  of  the  other  old  bachelor,  Hilary,  of 
Rushmore.  And  to  hear  those  two  aged  sinners  chant 
their  daily  duet  in  abuse  of  women  and  matrimony 
would  have  made  the  hair  of  a  boy  in  love  stand  on 
end. 

Old  Mr.  Hilary,  as  has  been  seen,  lived  and  died  in 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  99 

the  faith,  or  rather  in  the  want  of  faith.  And  Old  Jab 
was  one  of  his  pall-bearers. 

It  was  at  the  funeral  that  Mrs.  Hilary,  a  handsome 
matron  of  forty-eight,  first  met  Mr.  Jabez  Jordon,  of 
Broad  Manors. 

Now  Mrs.  Hilary  had  a  large  income  from  the  inter- 
est on  invested  funds,  but  she  had  no  capital,  and  no 
landed  property. 

Jordon,  of  Broad  Manors,  had  both.  He  was  as 
ugly  as  a  Gorgon,  and  as  ill-natured  as  a  hyena.  But 
what  of  that?  The  handsome  bachelor-slayer  marked 
him  for  her  own,  brought  him  down,  and  bagged  him 
as  easily  as  she  had  taken  his  predecessors. 

All  the  neighbors  wondered  how  on  earth  she  had 
done  it.  No  one  knew  but  herself.  She  knew  how  she 
had  done  it,  but  she  never  told  anybody. 

She  knew,  also,  how  she  had  tamed  her  "horrid  old 
hyena,"  made  him  keep  clean,  dress  neatly,  behave  de- 
cently, and  control  his  temper,  so  that  whatever  furies 
he  got  into  abroad,  or  however  bad  language  he  might 
use  to  other  people,  he  did  not  dare  to  show  his  teeth 
at  home,  or  to  utter  one  growl  to  his  wife  or  her  chil- 
dren. 

Every  one  of  the  neighbors  wondered  at  this  change, 
and  summed  up  their  opinion  in  some  such  phrase  as 
this: 

"She's  one  of  'em.  He  don't  dare  to  raise  a  fuss 
with  her.  Ah,  he  knows  too  well  which  side  his  bread 
is  buttered  on  for  that." 

Immediately  after  this  marriage  young  Rufus 
Hilary  came  of  age,  and  entered  into  possession  of  his 
inheritance. 

He  had  just  left  the  University  of  Virginia,  at  Char- 
lottesville,  from  which  he  had  not  graduated  with 
honors,  having  been  far  more  addicted  to  play  than  to 
.work. 

In  taking  possession  of  Rushmore  he  had  deter- 


100  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

rained  to  devote  himself  to  amusement  rather  than  to 
useful  employment,  and  to  get  all  the  play  out  of 
every  day  that  it  was  possible  to  obtain. 

He  found  it  lonesome  at  Rushmore,  and  so  he 
begged  his  "gay  and  happy"  mamma  to  bring  her 
daughters  (her  other  sons  were  in  business  in  Rich- 
mond), and  come  and  stay  with  him  until  he  should 
"get  used  to.  the  old  castle,"  as  he  put  it. 

Mr.  Jordon  made  not  the  slightest  objection  to  his 
wife's  leaving  Broad  Manors  on  this  long  visit  to  her 
son;  nor,  indeed,  would  it  have  been  of  the  least  con- 
sequence if  he  had.  She  would  have  gone  just  as 
soon. 

So  Mrs.  Jerdon  and  her  two  daughters  went  to 
Rushmore.  And  Old  Jab  had  a  jjood  long  interval  of 
perfect  free-agency,  during  which  he  enjoyed  himself 
excessively  in  once  more  being  as  ugly  and  slovenly  as 
he  pleased,  and  in  raging  and  storming  up  and  down 
the  house,  swearing  at  the  servants,  kicking  the  cats 
and  dogs,  and  putting  all  and  sundry  in  mortal  terror 
of  their  lives — as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  do  in  his 
free  and  happy  bachelor  days. 

Mrs.  Jordon  and  her  two  daughters,  Harriet  and 
Emily  Miles,  the  former  a  handsome  brunette  of 
twenty-five  years,  and  the  fac-simile  of  her  mother, 
and  the  latter  a  plump  and  pretty  blonde  of  twenty- 
four,  settled  themselves  at  Rushmore  for  an  indefinite 
time.  They  came  just  before  Christmas,  and  had  been 
there  two  weeks. 

Old  Jab  had  condescended  to  come  and  eat  his 
Christmas  dinner,  and  a  week  later  his  New  Year's 
dinner,  at  Rushmore;  but  that  was  all. 

He  went  away  the  day  after  New  Year's,  begging 
his  wife  to  stay  and  enjoy  herself  as  long  as  she  could, 
and  not  by  any  means  to  shorten  her  visit;  and  he 
went  home  to  make  the  lives  of  his  household  a  bur- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  101 

den  to  them — like  the  hypocritical  old  catamount  that 
he  was. 

After  he  was  gone  Rufus  took  his  mother  and  sisters 
to  the  theatrical  combination  of  tragedy  and  farce,  by 
the  Grand  Plantagenet  and  Montmorencie  Troupe,  to 
which  he  had  vainly  tried  to  persuade  Lilith  to  ac- 
company him. 

The  success  of  the  performance  was  so  great  that 
this  world-renowned  troupe — for  whose  coming  the 
royalty,  nobility  and  gentry  of  the  world  were  wait- 
ing with  the  sickness  of  hope  deferred — condescended 
to  shine  on  benighted  Frosthill  for  a  whole  week. 

Young  Rufus  Hilary  went  every  night.  But  his 
mother  and  sisters  refrained  on  account  of  their  neigh- 
bor, Major  Hereward,  who  lay  dead  at  Cloud  Caps. 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  funeral — the  morning 
of  the  same  day  on  which  at  evening  .Mr.  Hereward 
had  started  on  his  return  to  Washington — that  Rufus, 
at  the  breakfast  table  at  Rushmore,  suddenly  an- 
nounced: 

"Mother,  the  Grand  Plantagenet  and  Montmorencie 
Combination  are  going  away  by  the  midnight  train  to- 
night; so  I  have  invited  Mr.  Ancillon  to  come  home 
with  me  and  stay  all  night  and  spend  Sunday.  Then 
he  can  travel  Sunday  night  and  overtake  the  troupe  at 
Darkville,  where  they  are  to  perform  on  Monday." 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  of,  Rufus?  Who  is 
it  that  you  have  invited  here?" 

"Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon,  the  leading  gentleman  in  the 
Grand  Plantagenet  and  Montmorencie  Combination, 
you  know!  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon,  the  illustrious  tenor, 
the  eminent  tragedian  and  the  celebrated  comedian!" 

"The  strolling  player,  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  mother,  how  can  you!  He  is  the  most  wonder- 
ful genius  in  the  world!  And  I  nave  invited  him  to 
come  home  with  me  after  the  performaace  and  take 
supper  and  stay  over  Sunday  with  us." 


102  THE   UNLOVED  WIFE 

"Rufus,  I  have  heard  of  your  eccentric  doings  in 
bringing  to  the  house  all  sorts  of  clowns  and  harle- 
quins and  acrobats.  And  this  was  strange  enough 
even  when  you  were  keeping  bachelor's  hall  here 
alone;  but  now  that  I  and  the  girls  are  here — really, 
really,  Rufus,  I  cannot  put  up  with  such  doings!" 

"But,  mother,  he  is  a  gentleman!  And  such  a  world- 
wide celebrity  that  crowned  heads  are  honored  by  his 
visits!" 

"Oh,  hush,  Rufus,  hush!  You  talk  like  a  lunatic! 
He  is  nothing  but  a  strolling  player!  To  be  sure,  he 
acted  Robin  Roughhead  in  the  farce  very  well,  I 
thought.  Kept  me  laughing  all  the  time." 

"I  thought  he  sang  divinely  in  Figaro,"  said  Harriet 
Miles. 

"And,  oh,  how  thrillingly  he  played  Richard!  He 
really  made  my  blood  curdle  in  the  tent  scene!"  added 
Emily. 

"Why,  of  course  he  did!  There  is  not  his  match  for 
comedy,  tragedy  or  opera  in  this  world!  And  mammy, 
darling,  I  have  asked  him,  and  he  has  accepted,  so  he 
must  come.  I  couldn't  get  out  of  it  even  if  I  wanted 
to,  which  I  don't." 

"Well,  Rufus,  the  house  is  yours,  and  you  must  ask 
whom  you  please;  but  I  beg  that  you  will  consult  me 
while  we  stay  here,  before  asking  any  other  queer 
people  to  meet  us." 

"Yes,  mother,  I  will.  I  do  promise  you  I  will,  if  you 
will  only  for  this  once  be  polite  to  Ancillon." 

"I  should  be  polite  to  any  of  your  guests,  Rufus, 

'Howe'er  unworthy  of  the  name,' 

as  the  great  Sir  Walter  writes." 

"Would  you  and  the  girls  like  to  go  to  the  per- 
formance to-night,  mother?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  103 

'•No,  the  weather  is  too  awful!  Yve  should  all  get 
the  pleurisy  and  die!" 

""All  right;  then  I  must  go  alone." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  Kufus  went  to  Frosthill, 
which  was  only  about  a  mile  distant  from  Rushmore. 

Mrs.  Jordon  gave  orders  for  a  sumptuous  supper  to- 
be  ready  at  eleven  o'clock. 

The  two  young  ladies,  full  of  eager  curiosity  to  meet 
a  celebrated  actor  off  the  stage,  began  to  study  careful 
toilets,  so  as  to  do  honor  to  a  distinguished  guest.  At 
a  quarter  before  eleven  the  three  ladies  were  seated  in 
the  drawing-room,  waiting  in  state  for  the  visitor, 
when  the  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door,  and  Rufus  and 
his  guest  alighted,  the  former  talking  volubly.  He 
led  the  new-comer  noisily  through  the  passage  and 
up  the  stairs  to  his  own  room,  calling  on  the  servants 
to  follow  and  wait  on  them.  A  little  later  Rufus  came 
down  again,  accompanied  by  his  new  friend,  whom  he 
ushered  with  much  ceremony  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  he. presented  him  to  his  mother  as  the  world- 
renowned  dramatic  artist,  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon. 

"A  poor  phayer,  madame,  and  no  more,  as  you  must 
know,  if  you  have  honored  our  humble  efforts  with 
your  presence,"  said  Mr.  Ancillon,  with  a  deprecating 
bow. 

"I  was  very  much  pleased  with  your  rendition  of 
Robin  Roughhead,"  replied  Mrs.  Jordon,  whom  the 
grace  and  beauty  of  the  actor  had  already  won. 

"Thank  you,  madame." 

"He  is  a  gentleman.  He  does  not  say  a  short,  im- 
pertinent, 'Thanks,'  "  thought  the  lady  to  herself. 

Mrs.  Jordon  then  introduced  him  to  her  daughters, 
who  received  him  as  some  great  personage,  with  flat- 
tering deference  and  timidity.  Supper  was  soon  an- 
nounced, and  the  stranger,  with  an  air  of  easy  good 
breeding,  bowed  and  gave  Ms  arm  to  Mrs.  Jordon. 

At  supper  the  conversation,  led  by  the  lively  Rufus, 


104.  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

never  flagged  for  a  single  moment,  but  rang  the 
changes  on  music,  the  drama,  dramatic  authors  and 
actors,  until  at  length  Rufus  burst  out  with: 

"Oh,  mother,  I  was  so  sorry  that  dear,  pretty  Lilith 
could  not  see  Mr.  Ancillon  in  any  of  his  great  parts!" 

"Lilith!  I  beg  pardon!  Whom  did  you  say?"  in- 
quired the  guest. 

"Lilith  Wyvil,  a  lovely  girl! — a  neighbor  of  ours! 
Why,  did  you  know  her?  You  look  so  strange!" 
blurted  out  impulsive  Rufus. 

"No,  of  course  not!  But  the  name  is  so  very 
unique,"  said  Mr.  Ancillon,  instantly  recovering  him- 
self. 

"Yes,  it  is;  and  the  story  is  stranger  than  the  name," 
added  Mrs.  Jordon. 

"A  romance  in  real  life,  perhaps,  madame,"  said  the 
guest,  in  a  very  politely  suggestive  tone. 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed;  quite  so.  When  we  return  to  the 
drawing-room  I  will  tell  it  to  you  if  you  would  like  to 
hear  it.  Some  of  your  dramatic  authors  might  make 
a  play  of  it." 

"I  should  feel  greatly  indebted  to  you,  madame,"  re- 
plied the  guest,  bending  his  graceful  head. 

A  little  later,  when  they  all  arose  from  the  table, 
Mr.  Ancillon  gave  his  arm  to  the  elder  lady  and  led 
her  on  in  advance.  Rufus  followed. 

In  the  drawing-room  Mrs.  Jordon  sat  beside  Mr. 
Ancillon  on  the  corner  sofa,  pouring  into  his  listening 
ear  the  whole  history  of  Lilith  Wyvil's  parentage, 
birth,  orphanage,  adoption  by  Major  Hereward,  as  she 
had  heard  it  through  the  gossip  of  the  servants.  She 
concluded  by  describing  the  death-bed  marriage. 

Here  Rufus  chimed  in  with: 

"Yes;  and  he  has  gone  off  to  Washington  by  the 
train  to-night  and  left  her  alone  at  Cloud  Caps." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  my  dear?"  inquired  his 
mother. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  105 

"I  saw  him  take  the  train  when  I  was  on  my  way  to 
the  theatre.  I  would  not  have  left  her  so  soon  if  I  had 
been  the  happy  man  of  her  choice,"  said  Rufus,  rue- 
fully. 

The  clock  struck  one. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon,  rising.  "Our 
guest  is  tired,  no  doubt,  and  we  will  say  good-night." 

"Come,  Ancillon!  I  will  be  your  groom  of  the  cham- 
bers and  show  you  to  your  room,"  said  Rufus,  start- 
ing up. 

The  guest  also  arose,  bowed  gracefully  as  he  bade 
good-night  to  the  ladies,  and  then  followed  his  leader 
from  the  room. 

When  left  alone  with  his  own  reflections,  Ancillon 
did  not  at  once  retire.  Finally,  as  he  threw  off  his 
clothes  and  flung  himself  on  the  bed,  he  muttered: 

"I  do  not  think  I  shall  follow  the  Grand  Plantagenet 
and  Montmorencie  Combination  Troupe  any  farther  on 
this  route!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    MYSTERY 

LILITH  remained  for  hours  shut  up  alone  with  her 
mysterious  visitor  in  the  little  parlor. 

The  stormy  afternoon  darkened  towards  evening; 
yet  no  sound  came  from  the  closed  room. 

Meanwhile,  the  idle  negro  women,  gathered  around 
the  great  kitchen  fire,  made  their  comments. 

"Mos'  pitch  dark,  an'  she  ain't  rung  for  lights  yet," 
said  Cassy,  the  cook,  as  she  took  the  kitchen  lamp 
from  the  mantelpiece,  lighted  it,  and  set  it  on  the  side 
table. 

"Well,  wot  ob  it?  Yer  know  Miss  Lilif  allers  did 
like  to  sit  by  de  firelight,  'fo'  de  lamps  wer'  lit,"  said 
Nancy. 


106  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Yes;  but  not  w'en  dere  was  comp'ny.  Allers  had 
de  light  rung  fur,  sooner'n  ebber  den!" 

"I  reckon  she'll  ring  present'y.  Ef  she  don't  I  gwine 
to  knock  at  de  do',  an'  ax  her  doan  she  want  de  lamps 
fotch  in.  'Deed  is  I!" 

"Now,  doan  yer  be  so  fresh,  A'n'  Nancy!"  exclaimed 
little  Cely,  the  housemaid. 

"Wot  yer  mean,  gal?" 

"Didn'  yer  say  as  how  Miss  Lilif  lubbed  to  sit  in  de 
dark  firelight?" 

"Yes,  I  did;  but—" 

"Mebby  de  young  ge'man  lub  to  sit  in  de  dark  fire- 
light, too!" 

Before  the  girl  had  well  finished  the  sentence,  a  re- 
sounding box  on  the  ear,  from  Nancy's  strong  palm, 
sent  her  tumbling  off  her  stool  on  to  the  floor. 

"Now  den,  yer  sassy  black  nigger!  Take  dat!  'Ow 
dar'  yer  'spatiate  yer  'pertinent  jokes  'bout  yer  young 
mist'ess  and  her  wisiter?  Miss  Lilif  ain't  no  young 
damson  to  be  joked  about  sweethearts!  Miss  Lilif  is 
a  dig'ified  married  lady!" 

"I  didn'  mean  no  jokes  at  all!  An'  yer've  mos'  broke 
my  jaw-bone,  yer  have!"  howled  Cely,  as  she  stumbled 
up  from  the  floor  and  seated  herself  upon  the  stool 
again,  holding  her  smarting  cheek.  "I  on'y  fought 
mebby  more  people  'side  Miss  Lilif  like  to  sit  in  de 
dark  firelight!  I  do,  I  know!  an'  I  wasn'  finkin'  nuffin' 
'bout  no  sweethearts!  An'  I'd  'a'  said  de  same  ef  as 
how  it  had  been  a  old  'oman  'long  ob  Miss  Lilif  'stead 
ob  a  young  ge'man!  An'  yer've  guv  me  de  jaw-ache, 
so  yer  have,  A'n'  Nancy!" 

"Sarve  yer  right!  Doan  be  so  'pertinent  anoder 
time,  den!"  answered  the  unrelenting  Nancy. 

"Look  yere!  It's  gwine  on  to  seven  o'clock.  I  gwine 
get  supper.  'Deed  is  I.  I  won'er  ef  dat  young  ge'man 
gwine  to  stop  to  supper,  'caze  ef  he  is,  we'll  hab  to 
'pare  sumfin'  extry,"  said  the  cook. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  107 

"Nebber  yer  mine,  A'n'  Gassy!  Yer  jes'  frisky  dat 
cole  chicken  an'  toss  up  an  omely,  an'  wid  de  cakes  an' 
'serves  we's  got  on  ban',  dey'll  make  good  'nough 
supper  for  any  wisiter,  ef  he  do  stay,  an'  ef  he  don't, 
yer  know  nuffin'  need  to  be  los'!  We  dem  can  eat  all 
dat  conies  fom  de  table,"  said  Nancy. 

"Won'er  who  de  worl'  he  is,  anyhow?  Doan  yer 
know,  Nancy?" 

"No,  A'n'  Cassy,  I  don't!  I  reckon  he's  a  stranger 
hereabouts.  Moughty  'andsome  young  fellow,  dough! 
'Deed  is  he.  Eyes  as  black  as  coals  an'  as  bright  as 
di'mon's,  wid  sich  long  curly  lashes,  makes  one  fink 
about  de  sparklin'  water  of  dat  spring  in  de  hill,  wid 
de  high  grass  shadin'  it,  a-flashin'  up  in  de  sunshine! 
An'  sich  long  curly  black  hair,  chillun,  almost  like  a 
purty  young  gal's.  Oh,  I  tell  yer  he's  han'some." 

"An'  yer  dunno  who  he  is?" 

"No." 

"Nor  likewise  'spects?" 

"No,  I  tell  yer." 

"He  nebber  gib  his  name?" 

"No.  He  axed  ef  Mrs.  Tudor  Here  ward  was  home. 
Which  I  telled  him,  in  coorse  my  mist'ess  was  home, 
as  she  was  like  to  be  on  sich  a  stormy  day  as  dis.  An' 
den  he  gib  me  a  little  w'ite  ticket  wid  his  name  on  it. 
An'  I  took  it  up  an'  'suaded  my  young  mist'ess  to  go 
down  an'  see  him,  'caze  I  fought  it  was  a  pity  not  to 
see  a  wisiter  who  had  come  t'rough  sich  wedder  as 
dis  to  wisit.  An'  he  so  han'some,  too!  But  all  de 
same,  I  wish  to  goodness  gracious  I  hadn't  'suaded 
her,  dat's  all.  'Deed,  I's  gettin'  right  down  oneasy  in 
my  mine,  I  is  so." 

"I  doan  won'er.  It's  a  g'eat  'sponsability  as  yer've 
took  on  yerse'f,  Nancy!  an'  de  master  not  home  neider. 
S'pose  he's  a  highway  bu'glar  come  to  cut  off  all  our 
heads  an'  burn  down  de  house?  'Deed,  I's  gettin' 


108  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

powerful  scared.  I  wish  Steve  an'  Alick  would  come 
home.  Were  is  dem  boys,  anyhow?" 

"W'y,  A'n'  Cassy,  doan  yer  know  as  Steve  went  to 
de  pos'-office  an'  ain't  got  back  yet?"  put  in  Mandy,  the 
parlor-maid. 

"No!  an'  I  don't  s'pose  as  he  will  get  back  t'rough  all 
dis  snow  to-night.  It  would  be  a  rist  to  'tempt  it. 
But  w'ere  is  Alick?" 

"Uncle  Alick  is  in  de  stable,  long  o'  one  ob  de  car- 
ridge  horses  wot  is  berry  bad." 

"Blame  dem  boys!  dey's  allers  out'n  de  way  w'en 
wanted,  an'  in  de  way  w'en  not.  'Deed,  Nancy,  I  wish 
yer  hadn't  let  dat  strange  man  inter  de  house." 

"Now,  A'n'  Cassy,  doan  make  me  feel  no  wuss  'bout 
it  'an  I  do.  You  better  get  supper.  Mandy,  yer  go 
inter  de  dinin'-room  an'  set  de  table.  Cely,  you  come 
upstairs  long  o'  me  to  put  some  wood  on  Miss  Lilif's 
bedroom  fire.  I  doan  like  to  go  upstairs  arter  dark 
by  myse'f  ebber  since  ole  marse  went  to  glory." 

"Yer  ain't  afeard  of  ghoses,is  yer,  Nancy?  leastways 
ob  ole  Marse  Major's  ghose;  'caze  ef  he's  gone  to 
glory,  he  ain't  a-comin'  down  to  dis  dark,  stormy  worP 
to-night." 

"No,  A'n'  Cassy,  I  ain't  'feared  ob  seein'  ghoses;  I's 
feared  o'  bein'  scared,  dat's  all.  Come  'long,  Cely. 
Le's  get  de  wood  fuss,  dough." 

Both  women  went  through  a  back  door  leading  from 
the  kitchen  to  a  sheltered  wood-house,  whence  they 
soon  emerged  with  their  arms  full  of  hickory  and 
cedar  logs  which  they  proceeded  to  lug  upstairs  to 
the  young  mistress'  bedroom. 

"It's  a-gwine  to  be  a  awfuller  night  dan  it  was  las' 
night.  On'y  jes'  hear  dat  win'.  Yer  go  shet  de  windy 
shetters  an'  draw  de  curtaius  w'ile  I  puts  de  wood  on 
de  fire.  'Deed,  I  wish  dat  man'd  g'lang  'way.  I  do 
so!"  said  Nancy. 

Cely, busy  with  the  window  curtains,  did  not  answer. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  109 

"Dongh  ef  he  do  start  out  in  dis  storm  to-night,  ten 
to  one  he'll  perish  in  de  snow  'fo'  mornin'.  W'y  doan 
yer  answer  me,  gal?"  inquired  Nancy,  standing  up  on 
the  rug,  and  taking  a  long  breath  after  her  labor  of 
piling  the  heavy  logs  on  the  fire.  "W'y  doan  yer 
speak?  Wot  yer  stan'in'  dere  mumchance  fer?" 

"  'Gaze  my  jaw  aches!  Yer's  jarred  ebery  toof  in  my 
head,  yer  has!  An'  I  doan  want  to  be  knocked  heels 
ober  head  ag'in,  jes  'caze  I  open  my  mouf!  I  gwine 
keep  my  mouf  shet  w'en  yer's  about,"  grumbled  the 
girl,  who,  having  finished  closing  the  windows,  stood 
idly  by  the  door. 

"Po*  gal!  Ef  yer  can't  stan'  yer  own  dear  A'n' 
Nancy — yer  own  dear  mammy  wot's  gone  to  glory's 
own  dear  sister — chastisin'  yer,  gentle  an'  lubbin',  an' 
all  for  yer  own  good,  yer  better  not  marry  Ole  Jab 
Jordon's  Seth,  'caze  he's  jes'  like  his  ole  marster!  He'd 
knock  yer  'bout  till  yer  wouldn't  hab  a  whole  bone  in 
yer  body!  Yer  hear  me,  doan  yer?" 

Whether  Cely  heard  or  not,  she  did  not  choose  to 
answer.  Apparently  she  meant  to  keep  her  word,  and 
hold  her  tongue. 

"Dere!  Dere's  de  young  mist'ess*  ring  at  last," 
exclaimed  the  woman,  as  the  silver  peal  of  Lilith's 
hand-bell  sounded  through  the  silent  house.  "I 
reckon  she  wants  lights  now.  Run  down  an'  light  de 
lamps,  Cely,  w'ile  J  goes  to  answer  de  bell." 

Cely  flew  down  the  stairs  and  into  the  kitchen  on 
1  her  errand,  while  Nancy,  following  slowly,  reached 
the  door  of  the  little  parlor  and  opened  it.  On  one 
side  of  the  fireplace,  with  his  elbow  on  the  mantel- 
piece, his  handsome  head  leaning  upon  his  hand,  his 
black  locks  partly  falling  over  both,  and  his  dark  eyes 
fixed  on  the  floor,  stood  the  young  stranger.  By  the 
table,  with  her  head  bowed  upon  her  bosom,  her  hands 
hanging  down  and  clasped  before  her,  stood  Lilith, 
like  a  statue  of  despair. 


110  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

" Yer  rung  de  bell,  Miss  Lilif,"  said  Nancy,  by  way  of 
attracting  the  attention  of  the  young  lady,  who  seemed 
absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  latter,  with  an  effort  that 
sounded  like  a  deep  sigh;  "yes.  This  gentleman  re- 
mains here  to-night.  Have  a  fire  kindled  in  Major 
Hereward's  room,  and  prepare  it  for  his  occupation. 
Have  supper  on  the  table  as  soon  as  practicable." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  replied  the  housekeeper,  turn- 
ing to  leave  the  room,  and  meeting  Cely  at  the  door, 
with  a  lighted  lamp  in  each  hand. 

She  took  them  from  the  girl,  placed  one  at  each  end 
of  the  mantelpiece,  and  finally  withdrew,  followed  by 
Cely. 

"Well,  I  beliebe  as  we  is  commanded  in  de  Word  to 
entertain  strangers.  I  beliebe  we  is.  But  dis  yere 
stranger — I — I  has  my  doubts  'bout  entertainin'  ob 
him.  An'  de  marster  ob  de  house  'way,  too.  Dough, 
to  be  sure,  it  would  nebber  do  to  turn  a  dog  out'n 
de  house  on  sich  a  night  as  dis.  An'  he  so  handsome, 
too.  But  I  doan  like  his  stayin'  here,  'deed  I  doan. 
An'  people  so  ebil-minded.  An'  Miss  Lilif  so  simple 
an'  innocen'.  'Deed,  I  mus'  try  to  'vent  de  talk.  'Deed, 
I  mus'  dat,"  concluded  Nancy,  as  she  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  give  orders. 

And  there,  with  the  very  best  intentions  that  she 
could  have  had,  she  did  the  very  worst  thing  that  she 
could  have  done. 

"Look  yere,  chillun,"  she  said,  addressing  all  the 
negroes  in  the  kitchen,  whose  number  was  now  in- 
creased by  the  presence  of  Stephen  and  Alick,  who 
had  come  in  during  her  absence.  "Look  yere.  Dat 
strange  ge'man  is  gwine  to  stay  all  night.  'Twon't  do 
fer  Christian  people  to  let  him  go  out  sich  a  night 
as  dis,  eben  ef  he  is  a  stranger,  'special'  w'en  de  Word 
'mands  us  all  to  entertain  strangers.  Leastways,  I 
finks  it  does.  But  all  de  same  yer  mus'n',  none  ob  yer, 


THE   UNLOVED  WIFE  111 

go  blabbin'  to  de  neighbors  'bout  dis  young  youth  stay- 
in'  in  de  house,  an'  de  marster  not  here,  'caze  dey 
might  fink  ebil,  an'  talk  ebil,  too.  An'  yer  wouldn' 
hab  dat  done  to  de  ole  fam'ly  ob  de  Herewards,  would 
yer?" 

"No,  A'n'  Nancy.  But  wot  is  it?  Wot  yer  mean?" 
inquired  Stephen. 

And  all  the  other  colored  people  looked  the  per- 
plexity that  they  did  not  express. 

"I  means  dis,  doan  yer  see?  I  means  as  not  one  ob 
yer  mus'  so  much  as  breave  a  w'isper  outside  ob  dis 
house  'bout  dis  young  youth  bein'  here  to-night.  Do 
yer  hear  me  good?" 

"Yes,  A'n'  Nancy.    But  w'y?"  persisted  Stephen. 

"  'Gaze  ob  ebil  f  oughts  an'  ebil  tongues.  Dat's 
w'y." 

"But  wot  fer?" 

"Nebber  yer  mine  wot  fer,  Steve.  Yer  all  mus'  take 
yer  Bible  oaf  not  to  tell." 

And  so  Nancy  put  every  one  of  her  fellow-servants 
on  their  honor  not  to  mention  to  any  living  creature 
the  fact  of  this  stranger's  presence  in  the  house,  thus 
filling  their  minds  with  all  sorts  of  speculations. 

"An'  now,  Steve,  yer  go  right  off  an'  kindle  a  fire  in 
Marse  Major's  room.  An',  Mandy,  fetch  de  big  waiter 
to  take  in  de  supper." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  bell  rang. 

"Will  you  come  in  to  supper  now?"  inquired  Lilith, 
in  a  low  tone. 

Without  answering  in  words  he  left  his  place  by  the 
mantelpiece,  bowred,  and  offered  her  his  arm;  all  with 
a  courtly  grace  the  girl  had  never  seen  equaled. 

She  took  his  arm  and  walked  with  him  to  the  hall, 
where  Alick  had  just  lighted  the  old-fashioned  stained- 
glass  hanging  lamp,  and  down  to  the  dining-room, 
which  was  in  the  rear  of  the  little  parlor. 

There  a  great  fire  had  been  kindled,  and  an  elegant 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

little  supper-table  had  been  arranged  for  two.  Alick, 
who  was  waiting,  drew  back  the  chair  at  the  head  of 
the  table  and  the  stranger  led  the  young  lady  to  her 
place,  and  then  took  his  seat  opposite  to  her  at  the 
foot  of  the  table. 

"You  may  leave  the  room,  Alick.  If  we  need  you  I 
will  ring,"  said  the  young  mistress,  when  the  footman 
had  finished  serving  the  dishes,  and  stood  waiting  be- 
hind hia  mistress'  chair,  and  staring  at  the  stranger 
seated  opposite.  The  man  obeyed  rather  slowly  and 
reluctantly,  and  going  outside,  softly  closed  the  door 
behind  him,  and  then,  kneeling  cautiously  down  on 
the  floor,  placed  his  eye  to  the  key-hole,  and  thus  saw 
the  graceful  head  and  shoulders  of  the  young  stranger, 
who  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  table  nearest  the  door,  with 
his  back  to  the  watcher;  and  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
opposite  to  him,  with  her  back  to  the  fire,  and  with  her 
face  toward  the  door,  the  young  mistress,  whose  pale 
face  looked  pallid  in  contrast  to  her  black  hair  and 
mourning  dress. 

As  he  gazed  he  saw  her  put  up  her  hands  to  her 
face,  and  shake  as  with  a  sudden  chill. 

Then  he  saw  the  young  stranger  lift  his  head  as  if 
about  to  speak,  and  Alick  quickly  changed  his  eye  for 
his  ear  at  the  key-hole,  and  as  the  stranger  guest  sat  so 
near  the  door,  he  could  hear  all  he  said. 

And  this  is  what  he  heard: 

"Lilith,  I  have  made  you  very  miserable,  my 
darling." 

"His  darling!  Kingdom  ob  Egypt!  his  darling!  an* 
he  neider  de  husban'  nor  de  brud'der  ob  she!"  thought 
Alick  to  himself,  as  his  wool  nearly  uncurled  itself 
to  stand  on  end. 

He  listened  for  the  young  lady's  reply,  but  not  hear- 
ing it  he  shifted  his  ear  for  his  eye,  to  see  what  she 
was  doing. 

She  still  sat  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  113 

trembling  all  over  her  black-robed  form.  He  sat  lean- 
ing forward  on  the  table,  looking  towards  her,  his  al- 
most girlish  black  curls  flowing  over  his  temples  and 
forehead. 

Lilith  dropped  her  hands  from  her  pallid  face  and 
met  his  look.  Then  the  stranger  began  to  speak,  and 
A  lick  quickly  shifted  eye  for  ear  again  that  he  might 
listen. 

"Lilith,  dearest,  do  you  not  wish  that  I  had  never 
found  you?"  inquired  the  stranger,  in  a  yearning,  pa- 
thetic voice.  "Do  you  not  wish  this,  my  Lilith?" 

"His  Lilif!  Glory  be  to  Moses?"  thought  the  lis- 
tener; and  he  listened  eagerly  for  her  reply. 

"No,  no,  I  do  not  wish  it.  I  thank  Heaven  that  you 
have  come.  I  thank  Heaven,"  fervently  replied  the 
young  lady. 

"She's  all  right,  anyway,  or  she  wouldn't  talk  'bout 
t'ankin'  Hebben!"  thought  the  listener;  and  he  lis- 
tened more  eagerly  than  ever. 

"And  yet  I  have  brought  you  only  sorrow,  misery 
and  embarrassment,  my  sweet — my  sweetest  child," 
said  the  stranger,  in  his  pathetic  voice. 

"His  sweet!  Blamed  be  Judas  Ask  Harriet!  Look 
yere,  dough,  I's  asleep,  I  is,  an'  has  got  de  night-horse 
or  de  staggeration  ob  de  blood  in  de  brain — dat's  wot's 
de  matter!  Dis  yere's  a  dream.  Dreams  is  allers 
feolish  fings,  an'  dis  yere  is  de  foolishest  I  ebber  had," 
thought  the  perplexed  negro  to  himself.  But  his 
ruminations  were  cut  short  by  the  soft,  clear  voice  of 
his  mistress.  He  bent  his  ear  to  listen  more  atten- 
tively to  her  words. 

"If  I  could  only  tell  my  husband  I  should  feel  less 
unhappy.  It  is  the  keeping  of  a  secret  from  him  that 
troubles  my  conscience." 

"But  I  have  told  you  why  this  must  be  kept  from 
him,  as  from  all  the  world,  Lilith.  You  would  not  be- 
tray me?" 


114  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Oh!  no,  no!  I  would  guard  your  secret  with  my 
life!  Nay,  indeed,  I  am  guarding  it  with  more,  much 
more,  than  life!"  wailed  the  girl. 

"With  your  peace  of  mind,  your  hope  of  the  future, 
your  sacred  honor!  I  know  it,  Lilith!  And  you  know 
how  absolutely  necessary  it  is  that  my  secret  should 
be  so  guarded." 

"Yes,  I  know!  I  know!  And  I  will  be  true  to  the 
sacred  trust." 

"I  am  sure  you  will,  Lilith,  my  most  precious  one; 
my  angel!" 

"His  angel!  Bress  de  Witch  ob  Windy's  broom- 
stick! But  dar!  I  know  1's  asleep,  so  I  won't  fink 
nuffin'  more  'bout  it.  On'y  I  do  hope  as  I  will  hear 
wot  dat  secret  is  'fo'  I  wakes  up.  'Deed  does  I!"  cogi- 
tated the  negro  man,  as  he  once  more  applied  his  eye 
to  the  keyhole  to  view  the  interior. 

Lilith  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  was  advancing 
towards  the  door.  The  stranger  stood  up,  turned  and 
placed  his  hand  on  the  knob.  So  sudden  was  the 
action  that  Alick  had  to  speed  away  to  prevent  detec- 
tion; and  he  burst  into  the  kitchen  with  such  a  ter- 
rified air  that  the  negroes  started  up. 

Before  they  could  ask  an  explanation  the  parlor  bell 
rang,  and  Alick,  whose  business  it  was  to  answer  it 
when  in  the  house,  started  immediately  to  do  so. 

He  found  his  young  mistress  and  her  visitor  stand- 
ing before  the  parlor  fire. 

"Alick,  take  a  lamp  and  show  this  gentleman  to  his 
room — Major  Hereward's  room — and  place  yourself  at 
his  orders." 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Your  sarvint,  sar!"  respectfully  an- 
swered the  man,  touching  his  forehead  by  way  of  salu- 
tation, and  then  taking  one  of  the  lamps  from  the 
mantelpiece,  and  leading  the  way  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  followed  by  the  stranger. 

On  showing  the  guest  into  that  which  was  now  the 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  115 

best  spare  room,  Alick  became  very  communicative 
and  confidential,  while  the  visitor  on  his  part  in- 
quired: 

"What  is  your  name,  then,  my  heroic  friend?" 

"Alick,  sar." 

"Oh,  Alexander!  Well,  Alexander  the  Great,  I 
salute  the  hem  of  your  majesty's  garment,  and  I  bid 
you  bon  soir!" 

"Bones  sore,  young  marse!  At  yer  young  youfful 
years,  too!  Uat  mus'  'a'  been  traipsin'  t'rough  de 
snow!"  exclaimed  the  negro. 

"Very  likely,"  laughed  the  young  man. 

"Le'  me  get  yer  some  goose-grease,  young  marse!" 

"Goose-grease  be — melted!  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  me.  Good-night." 

"Oh!  I  fought  yer  said  as  how  yer'd  cotch  de  rheu- 
matics, 'long  o'  coming  so  far  t'rough  de  snow.  Yer 
has  come  a  long  ways,  hasn'  yer,  young  marse  ?" 

"Yes.    Good-night." 

"Yer  mus'  fink  a  heap  o'  Miss  Lilif." 

"I  do.    You  can  go.    Good-night." 

"Maybe  yer's  some  kin  to  Miss  Lilif.  I  fink  I  do  see 
a  likeness.  I  fink — OH,  LOR'!" 

The  stranger  had  started  up,  struck  a  stage  attitude, 
and,  pointing  to  the  negro,  with  all  the  fury  of  all  the 
ranters  darkening  on  his  frowning  brow,  flashing  from 
his  stormy  eyes  and  thundering  in  his  resonant  voice, 
he  bellowed  forth  at  random : 

"Be  thou  a  goblin  damned? 

A  vaunt  and  quit  my  sight!  Let  the  earth  hide  theel 
Vamose  the  ranch!  Skedaddle!  Vanish!" 

The  man  stood  glaring  with  open  eyes  and  mouth 
for  one  amazed  moment,  and  then,  with  a — 

"Lor'  'a'  messy  'pon  me,  a  po'  mis'ble  sinner!"  he 
fled,  stumbling  out  of  the  room  and  through  the  hall, 


116  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

and  finally  tumbled  down  the  back  stairs,  nearly  at 
the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck. 

All  the  negroes  in  the  kitchen  rushed  out  of  the  door 
to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

They  found  Alick  picking  himself  up  and  praying: 

"Oh,  Lor',  spare  my  libe  dis  time  an'  I'll  nebber  do 
so  no  mo'!" 

"Wot's  de  matter?  Wot's  de  matter?"  cried  a  cho- 
rus of  voices  from  the  negro  group. 

"Dat  young  youf  upsta'rs  is  a  raving  mad  lunacy. 
He's  took  awful!  He  called  me  a — goblet  crammed! 
an'  he  cussed  an'  swore  at  me  in — in  some  furrin  lan- 
gidge!  He's  dange'us!  'Deed  he's  werry  dange'us!'' 
howled  Alick. 

A  shower  of  questions  elicited  no  further  intelli- 
gence, but  only  a  repetition  of  the  words. 

"Whey's  de  young  mist'ess?  She  ought  to  be  tole," 
said  Gassy. 

"Oh,  she's  gone  to  bed,  an'  A'n'  Nancy  wid  her  to 
sleep  in  de  trunk  room,"  answered  Cely. 

"Den  she  mus'n'  be  'sturbed,  in  coorse.  But,  tell  yer 
wot  to  do,  chillun!  Ef  dat  man's  c'azy  we  better  wait 
an'  see  if  he  settles  down  an'  goes  to  sleep,  an'  den 
creep  up  in  de  dark  an'  lock  him  in,"  suggested  Gassy. 

"Yes!  dat's  de  fing!  An'  de  key  is  on  de  outside  ob 
de  do'  ebber  sence  old  major  went  to  glory,"  Alick 
said. 

After  a  little  whispering  consultation  this  plan  was 
adopted,  and  the  negroes  crept  upstairs  and  lay  in 
wait  in  the  hall  near  the  door  till  all  was  still  in  the 
house.  Meamwhile  the  intended  victim  of  this  con- 
spiracy, all  unconscious  of  his  impending  captivity, 
immediately  on  the  ignominious  flight  of  the  negro 
had  thrown  himself  into  his  chair,  fallen  back  and 
given  vent  to  an  uproarious  peal  of  laughter,  which 
was  succeeded  by  another  and  another  as  if  he  could 
not  stop  himself. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  117 

And  so  the  strange  man,  with  a  boyish  elasticity  of 
spirits,  sprang  lightly  to  his  feet,  threw  off  his  clothes 
and  flung  himself  into  bed.  As  soon  as  his  head 
touched  the  pillow  he  dropped  asleep  with  the  careless 
ease  of  boyhood.  And  he  never  even  heard  the  click 
of  the  lock  that  made  him  a  prisoner  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DANGER 

EARLY  in  the  morning  it  was  discovered  to  be  still 
snowing  and  blowing.  Outside  the  kitchen  door  was 
found  Old  Isaac,  the  oldest  negro  on  the  plantation. 
He  stood  there  with  a  heavy  gray  blanket  wrapped 
all  over  his  cloak  and  suit  of  clothes. 

"W'y,  Uncle  Ike!"  exclaimed  Steve  and  Alick  in  a 
breath,  and  they  began,  and  in  a  duet  of  eager  words 
told  him  all  they  knew  about  the  arrival  of  the 
stranger  and  also  of  his  suspected  lunacy  and  of  his 
temporary  confinement. 

Soon  Cassy  the  cook  and  Mandy  the  parlor-maid 
came  down  the  back  stairs  to  set  about  the  morning 
meal.  They  greeted  Old  Isaac,  and  then  Cassy,  turn- 
ing to  Alick,  said: 

"I  been  listening  at  de  do'  ob  dat  strange  ge'man, 
an'  eberyt'ing  is  as  quiet  an'  peaceable  in  dere  as  in 
any  room  in  de  house.  So  I  jes'  made  free  to  unlock 
dat  do'  ag'in.  'Caze  yer  know  ef  dat  ge'man  fines  his- 
se'f  lock  up  dar,  he  mought  raise  a  big  fuss.  An'  de 
young  mist'ess  moughtent  like  it." 

A  few  minutes  later  great  fires  were  burning  in  the 
open  chimneys  of  all  the  living-rooms  in  the  old  manor 
house,  and  an  hour  later  the  young  mistress  of  the 


118  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

establishment  was  seated  with  her  guest  at  a  cozy 
little  breakfast  table  before  the  open  fire  of  the  dining- 
room.  Alick  had  persuaded  Steve  to  join  him  in  wait- 
ing on  the  table,  lest  the  supposed  lunatic  should  be- 
come violent.  But  as  soon  as  the  coffee  was  served 
and  all  the  several  dishes  in  turn  handed  to  the  guest, 
whom  Alick  watched  suspiciously,  their  mistress  said : 

"You  may  go  now.  If  we  need  you  I  will  ring." 
And  they  left  the  room. 

Alick,  making  an  excuse  to  look  after  the  parlor  fire, 
lingered  in  the  hall  until  the  coast  wis  clear,  and  then 
kneeled  softly  down  before  the  dining-room  door  and 
placed  his  ear  to  the  keyhole. 

And  this  is  what  he  heard: 

"Lilith,  my  precious,  you  must  not  urge  me  to  stay. 
Every  duty  in  life  calls  me  away  to-day." 

"But  you  cannot  go!  Oh,  indeed  you  cannot  go! 
It  is  not  I,  but  stern  necessity,  that  would  keep  you 
here." 

"It  is  'stern  necessity'  that  takes  me  hence,  dear 
child." 

"Ah!  but  one  necessity  may  be  sterner  than  an- 
other!" said  Lilith,  with  a  smile.  "And  it  is  the  very 
sternest  necessity  that  must  keep  you  here.  You  do 
not  know  the  danger  of  these  mountain  roads  during 
snow-storms.  All  landmarks  are  covered,  and  men 
have  been  known  to  sink  in  the  snow  into  deep  chasms 
or  ravines  and  perish  there.  You  must  not  leave  the 
house  to-day — indeed  you  must  not!  You  must  not 
go!  You  might  perish  in  the  snow!  Oh,  indeed  you 
might!"  pleaded  the  young  lady. 

"And  if  I  did.  Would  not  that  be  the  very  best 
thing  that  could  happen  for  you,  my  Lilith?" 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no!  It  would  be  one  of  the  very  worst! 
Oh,  do  not  talk  so!  And  do  not  think  of  going  out  to- 
day. Do  not  subject  me  to  so  great  an  anxiety;  for  if 
you  should  leave  the  house  in  this  storm,  I  should  not 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  119 

know  an  hour's  peace  until  I  should  hear  of  your 
safety;  and  how  should  I  hear  of  it?" 

"You  do  care  for  me,  then,  my  child?" 

"Care  for  you!" 

"And  yet  you  have  not  known  me  twenty-four 
hours." 

"Ah!  but  I  cared  for  you  before  I  ever  knew  you!  I 
have  told  you  so.  Oh!  I  felt  my  heart  drawn  to  you 
when  I  first  looked  upon  your  picture,  when  I  tkought 
you  were  only  a  relation  of  my  father's,  before  I  knew 
how  near  you  were,  and  how  dear  you  would  become 
to  me!" 

"And  the  story  that  I  have  told  you  has  not  repelled 
me  from  you?" 

"Oh!  no,  no,  but  made  you  a  thousand  times  dearer 
than  before." 

Footsteps  were  heard  scuffling  along  the  hall,  and 
Alick  arose  hurriedly  from  his  position. 

"A'n'  Gassy  sent  me  to  car'  dese  in,"  said  Steve,  as 
he  came  up  with  a  plate  of  hot  buckwheat  cakes  in 
his  hand. 

"Well,  den,  take  'em  in.  I  done  fix  de  parlor  fire, 
and  was  jes'  gwine  back  to  de  kitchen." 

Steve  opened  the  door  to  enter  the  dining-room, 
but  his  cakes  were  not  needed.  The  young  mistress 
and  her  guest  had  risen  to  leave  the  table.  The  two 
servants  drew  aside,  and  the  lady  and  gentleman 
passed  on  to  the  parlor. 

The  stranger  guest  stayed  all  day,  and  all  the  next 
da^',  and  the  next.  The  roads  were  known  to  be  impas- 
sable. No  one  came  to  the  house,  and  it  was  certain 
that  no  one  could  leave  it. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  no  evil  could  be  ex- 
pected to  come  from  the  accidental  presence  of  a 
storm-bound  stranger  in  a  lonely  country  house. 

But  in  this  case,  where  the  mistress  of  the  house 
was  youthful  and  beautiful,  and,  in  the  temporary 


120  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

absence  of  her  husband,  living  quite  alone,  except  for 
the  attendance  of  colored  servants,  and  where  "the 
stranger  within  the  gates"  was  young  and  handsome, 
and  admitted  to  the  daily  companionship  of  the 
hostess,  then  indeed,  though  angels  might  have  smiled 
at  all  their  interviews,  mortals  would  wonder,  specu- 
late and  misjudge. 

No  one  misjudged  so  much  as  stupid  black  Alick. 
By  watching  and  listening  at  every  opportunity  that 
he  got,  he  learned  enough  to  excite  the  most  serious 
suspicions  in  his  own  benighted  mind,  but  not  enough 
to  allay  them.  He  finally  came  to  the  deadly  conclu- 
sion that  his  mistress  and  her  guest  were  falling  in 
love  with  each  other,  and  his  soul  was  fearfully  ex- 
ercised thereby. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  Lilith,  in  her  anxiety  to 
hear  from  her  husband,  called  up  Alick  and  proposed 
that  he  should  take  one  of  the  strong,  sure-footed 
mules  and  try  to  reach  the  post-office.  But  she  warned 
him  not  to  attempt  to  proceed  if  he  should  find  the 
road  perilously  obstructed. 

The  man  accordingly  got  ready  for  his  "Arctic  Ex- 
pedition," as  the  stranger  guest  called  it,  and  at  one 
o'clock  set  out  on  mule-back  for  Frosthill. 

Alick  found  the  roads  as  bad  as  they  possibly  could 
be  not  to  be  utterly  impassable.  He  reached  the  vil- 
lage post-office  at  about  three  o'clock. 

There  was  no  one  on  duty  but  a  boy  thirteen  years 
old,  the  son  of  the  postmaster,  who  unlocked  the  bag 
and  filled  it  with  about  half  a  dozen  letters  and  as 
many  newspapers  for  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs.  Finally  h« 
locked  the  bag  and  returned  it  to  the  messenger. 

"Marse  Tom,  is  yer  busy?"  inquired  the  negro,  lift- 
ing a  well-filled  basket  from  the  floor  to  the  counter. 

"No,  and  shan't  be  until  the  mail  comes  in,"  replied 
the  boy. 

"Here's  a  bag  o'  nuts  from  our  Eng'ish  wa'nut  tree. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

An'  here's  a  dozen  ob  de  bigges'  apples  as  ebber 
growed  at  Cloud  Caps!  I  gib  'em  all  to  yer,  ef  yer'Il 
hab  charity  to  yite  one  little  letter  for  a  po'  color'  man 
as  can't  do  it  for  hisse'f.  Will  yer  now,  Marse  Tom?" 
pleaded  Alick. 

"Of  course  I  will!  That's  not  much  trouble,  and  I 
would  do  it  for  nothing,  willingly,"  replied  the  good- 
natured  boy,  taking  a  sheet  of  note-paper  from  a  pile 
and  preparing  to  set  about  the  task. 

"  'Rect  it  to  de  Hon'able  Mr.  Tudor  Hereward,  Es- 
quire, Member  ob  Washington  City." 

"CLOUD-CAPPED  CLIFFS,  January  13th,  18 — . 
"MY  HONORED  MARSTER:  W'ich  I  wouldn't  'sume  to 
take  de  liberty,  ef  de  case  wasn't  eminent.  W'ich  yer's 
wanted  home  immediate.  WT'ich  dere's  a  han'some 
'sinivatin'  young  youf  a-stayin'  in  de  house  fo'  dese 
fibe  days,  an'  a-meanin'  to  keep  on  a-stayin'  in  de 
house,  the  Lor'  on'y  knows  how  long;  an'  no  one  to 
keep  his  company  but  de  you-ng  mist'ess.  An'  he 
a-takin'  up  all  her  time.  \Vich  we  dem  colored  people 
don't  'prove  ob  de  like  in  de  marster's  absence. 
"Yer  'bedient  sarvint  to  command, 

"ALLESANDER  TURNBULL." 

The  young  scribe  sealed  the  letter,  and  had  put  a 
stamp  on  it  and  popped  that  firebrand  into  the  mail. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PARTING 


SUPPER  was  over  at  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs,  and  a  fine 
fire  burned  in  the  open  chimney  of  Lilith's  parlor.  In 
easy-chairs,  on  each  side  of  the  table,  before  the  fire, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

sat  the  young  mistress  of  the  house  and  her  storm- 
bound guest  when  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked 
Alick,  in  his  big  black  ulster,  who  laid  a  mail  bag  on 
the  table  before  his  mistress.  Lilith  said: 

"You  may  go  now,  Alick,  and  get  your  supper  and 
get  warm." 

The  man  ducked  his  head  and  went  out,  and  Lilith 
handed  four  letters  to  her  guest,  laid  a  pile  of  maga- 
zines and  newspapers  on  the  table  between  them,  and 
then  asked: 

"Will  you  excuse  me  while  I  open  these  letters  from 
Mr.  Hereward?" 

The  stranger  bowed  and  smiled,  and  began  to  unseal 
his  own  epistles. 

Lilith  looked  at  the  dates  of  hers,  and  opened  the 
earliest. 

It  was  written  by  her  husband  immediately  after 
his  arrival  in  Washington,  and  it  described  his  night 
journey  and  his  arrival  at  the  capital  in  the  morning, 
just  in  time  to  escape  the  blockade  of  the  road  by  the 
snow-storm  that  had  commenced  at  dawn. 

He  begged  her  to  answer  his  letter  by  return  mail, 
and  to  tell  him  how  she  had  got  home  on  that  terribly 
cold  night  when  she  had  insisted  on  riding  with  him  to 
the  railway  station,  and  whether  she  had  taken  any 
harm  from  the  exposure. 

This  letter  had  evidently  been  lying  in  the  Frosthiil 
post-office  ever  since  its  arrival,  five  days  before. 

Lilith  laid  it  aside  with  a  sigh,  and  opened  the 
second  letter. 

This  was  of  later  date,  and  expressed  much  anxiety 
to  hear  from  her;  much  fear  that  she  was  ill  from  hav- 
ing taken  cold,  since  he  had  received  no  letters;  and 
yet  a  forlorn  hope  that  it  might  be  only  on  account 
of  the  blockaded  country  roads  that  all  correspon- 
dence seemed  cut  off  between  them;  but  begging  that 


THE   UNLOVED  WIFE  123 

as  soon  as  this  letter  should  reach  her  she  should  an- 
swer it  by  the  first  mail. 

"I  will  answer  both  these  before  I  sleep  to-night, 
and  Alick  shall  take  my  letter  to  the  post-office  in 
time  for  the  first  mail  to-morrow,"  said  Lilith  to  her- 
self, after  she  had  read  them  over  and  over  again, 
dwelling  fondly  on  any  expression  of  interest  or  affec- 
tion they  contained  for  herself. 

She  slipped  them  into  her  pocket  and  looked  up  at 
her  guest. 

He  had  finished  reading  his  correspondence,  and 
was  sitting  with  his  elbow  on  the  table,  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  his  fine  dark  curls  straying  over 
forehead  and  fingers,  and  his  dark  eyes  fixed  on  her 
with  a  pensive  gaze. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  Dear,  what  is  it?"  anxiously  in- 
quired Lilith. 

"Nothing  child.  Never  mind  my  moods.  Have  you 
good  news  from  your  husband?" 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  Heaven!  He  is  quite  well  and  very 
busy." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that.  And  when  I  am  far  away 
from  you  it  will  make  me  happy  to  remember  how 
happily  you  are  married." 

"Oh,  yes!  I  am!  I  am!  So  much  more  happily 
than  I  ever  expected  or  deserved  to  be.  But  why  do 
you  speak  of  the  time  when  you  shall  be  far  away?  I 
hate  to  think  of  it.  We  are  so  contented  now." 

"But,  my  sweet  child,  I  must  leave  you  to-morrow 
morning." 

"But  why?" 

"My  letters  really  call  me  away — every  one  of  them, 
and  each  is  more  urgent  than  its  predecessor." 

"I  wish  I  had  not  written  to  the  postmaster  to  send 
your  letters  as  well  as  mine  since  they  take  you  from 
me.  But  why  should  you  obey  the  call?" 


124,  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

The  stranger  broke  into  one  of  his  rare,  sweet 
laughs,  and  answered: 

"Because,  dear,  the  Grand  Plantagen^t  and  Mont- 
morencie  Combination  are  due  at  Staunton  on  Monday 
morning,  to  open  on  Monday  evening  v-ith  the  tragedy 
of  Othello,  the  opera  of  Lucia,  and  the  roaring  farce  of 
Toodles,  and  the  world-renowned  tragedian,  tenor  and 
comedian,  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon,  is  announced  for  tlv1 
roles  of  the  Moor  of  Venice,  Edgar  Ravenswood,  and 
Toodles.  Don't  you  see?" 

"Yes,  I  see.  Oh,  what  versatility  of  talent  you  must 
have!  If  you  are  not  'world-renowned,'  you  ought  to 
be,"  said  Lilith. 

"That  is  just  my  opinion  of  myself,"  replied  the 
stranger,  with  a  laugh.  "And  just  the  opinion  that 
Stubbs  &  Smith  (Messrs.  Plantagenet  and  Mont- 
morencie)  are  trying  to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  a 
benighted  public.  And  now,  dearest,  I  must  bid  you 
good-night.  You  look  pale  and  weary.  You  must  go 
to  rest." 

And  so  saying  the  stranger  guest  arose,  tenderly 
kissed  his  young  hostess,  and  left  the  room. 

Lilith  also  arose,  stirred  the  fire,  turned  up  the  light 
of  the  lamp,  cleared  a  place  on  the  table,  and  sat  down 
to  answer  her  husband's  two  letters  in  one. 

She  told  him  how  glad  she  had  been  to  get  his  two 
letters  at  once;  how  anxious  she  had  been  to  hear  from 
him;  how  entirely  all  travel  had  been  impeded  on  the 
country  roads,  and  how  impossible  it  had  been  to  send 
to  the  post-office  until  that  day.  She  assured  him  S:HI 
had  taken  no  harm  from  exposure  on  the  night  when 
she  had  accompanied  him  to  the  railway  station; 
that  she  was  quite  well,  and  that  everything  was  going 
on  well  at  home,  except  the  temporary  inconvenience 
caused  by  the  snow  blockade. 

Then  Lilith  hesitated.  She  did  not  know  how  to 
introduce  the  subject  of  a  stranger's  sojourn  under  the 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  125 

roof.  She  was  pledged  to  keep  that  stranger's  secret. 
Bj  every  law  of  duty  she  was  bound  to  keep  it.  Yet, 
how  oould  she  write  truthfully  of  his  visit  and  Hot  be- 
tray his  secret? 

She  made  several  attempts.    She  wrote: 

"A  traveler  sought  shelter  here  from  the  storm  on 
the  day  after  you  left,  and  he  has  been  snow-bound 
ever  since;  but  he  will  try  to  proceed  on  his  journey 
to-morrow  morning." 

"No,"  she  said,  after  reading  these  lines  over,  "that 
will  not  do;  it  is  not  true.  He  was  not  driven  in  here 
by  the  storm.  He  came  to  see  me,  in  spite  of  the 
storm." 

Then  she  tore  up  that  page  and  tried  again: 

"A  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon— " 

"No,  that  will  not  do  either.  That  is  not  true  either 
— his  name  is  not  Alfred  Ancillon.  Oh,  dear!  what 
shall  I  do!  It  seems  to  me  so  wrong,  so  criminal,  to 
conceal  this  strange  visit  from  the  knowledge  of  my 
husband,  and  yet  how  can  I  write  one  truthful  word 
about  it  without  betraying  him?  And  I  am  vowed  not 
to  do  that.  I  will  write  nothing  about  it.  That  is  the 
only  course  I  can  take  without  either  writing  an  un- 
truth or  breaking  my  oath  of  secrecy  and  ruining  him, 
and  making  Tudor  and  myself  miserable  for  life." 

Yet  Lilith  sat  long  with  her  elbows  on  the  table  and 
her  bowed  head  held  between  the  palms  of  her  hands, 
as  she  gazed  vacantly  on  the  letter  before  her,  ere  she 
could  resolve  to  close  it  without  telling  of  this  momen- 
tous visit. 

"Oh,  I  am  morbid  over  this!  I  make  more  of  the 
difficulty  than  it  really  is.  This  visit,  so  significant  to 
me,  is  little  or  nothing  to  any  one  else.  It  is  only  the 


126  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

secret,  that,  if  known,  would  make  all  concerned  as 
wretched  as  it  has  made  me.  I  will  say  nothing,  since 
I  cannot  tell  all  about  it.  A  partial  disclosure  would 
be  insincere,  dangerous  and  suspicious.  I  will  say  not 
one  word  about  it.  In  a  day  he  will  be  gone ;  in  a  week 
he  will  be  forgotten  by  all  save  me.  And  so  the  cloud 
will  pass  without  breaking." 

With  these  words  Lilith  once  more  addressed  her- 
self to  her  task,  and  finished  and  closed  up  her  letter 
without  once  alluding  in  the  slightest  degree  to  her 
strange  visitor.  Then  she  rang  the  bell  that  sum- 
moned the  two  men-servants  to  shut  up  the  house, 
cover  the  fires  and  put  out  the  lights. 

When  Alick  and  Steve  came  in,  she  said : 

"One  of  you  must  be  ready  to  ride  to  Frosthill  to 
post  letters  early  to-morrow  morning.  You  may  settle 
it  between  you  which  is  to  go." 

Then  she  took  her  wax  taper  which  Steve  had 
brought  in  and  went  up  to  her  room,  where  Nancy 
was  waiting  to  attend  to  her  wants.  An  hour  later 
the  tired  little  brain  and  heart  forgot  all  care  and 
trouble  in  healthful  sleep.  Very  early  the  next  morn- 
ing the  household  was  astir.  The  sun  was  shining; 
the  wind  was  still;  the  air  mild  with  the  January 
thaw.  The  young  mistress  of  the  house  and  her  guest 
met  at  the  breakfast  table. 

"I  will  have  to  trouble  you,  my  dear,  to  lend  me  a 
horse  to  take  me  to  the  railway  station,"  he  said,  as 
soon  as  Alick  had  left  the  room. 

"Then  you  will  go  this  morning?"  sighed  Lilith. 

"No,  not  will,  but  must,"  he  amended. 

"At  what  hour  do  you  wish  to  leave?" 

"In  time  to  secure  the  ten  o'clock  express." 

"Then  you  will  have  to  leave  here  at  eight,  and  it  is 
half-past  seven  now,"  she  said,  as  she  rang  a  bell. 

''Who  is  getting  ready  to  go  to  the  post-office?"  she 
inquired  of  Alick  when  he  answered  the  summons. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  127 

"Steve,  mist'ess." 

"Then  tell  him  to  wait.  He  will  have  to  attend  Mr. 
Ancillon.  And  tell  him  to  saddle  Salidon,  for  Mr. 
Ancillon's  use." 

"Yes,  mist'ess,"  replied  the  negro.  "Tank  de  Lord, 
dat  young  youf's  goin'  at  las',"  he  chuckled  to  himself 
as  he  left  the  room  to  give  the  orders. 

Lilith  and  her  guest  arose  from  the  table  and  went 
together  into  the  little  parlor. 

"How  shall  I  hear  from  you  when  you  are  away?" 
she  inquired,  anxiously. 

"I  hardly  know  how,  my  dearest  one.  But  be  sure  I 
will  find  some  safe  way  of  communicating  with  you," 
he  answered,  confidently. 

"But  you  will  be  very  cautious,  for  your  own  sake 
and  for  mine  and — his?"  she  pleaded,  earnestly. 

"Cautious?  My  child,  I  have  graduated  in  cautious- 
ness; I  have  taken  a  high  degree  in  cautiousness!  I 
am  a  Master  of  Cautiousness!  A  Doctor  of  Cautious- 
ness! If  I  were  not  I  should  not  be  here  now  to  tell 
you  the  tale.  Fear  nothing  for  me.  I  am  an  'old 
soldier.'  " 

While  he  spoke  he  was  pulling  on  his  riding  coat 
and  drawing  on  his  gloves. 

"Always  let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything  to  please 
you.  You  will,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  dear.  Be  sure  of  it.  It  is  hardly  possible  that 
you,  defended  and  sheltered  from  all  the  storms  of  life 
as  you  are,  should  ever  need  my  poor  services;  but  if 
you  should,  be  sure  that  you  will  have  them — through 
life,  and  unto  death!" 

"Oh,  give  me  some  address  to  which  I  may  write  to 
you.  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  leave  me,  and 
leave  no  clue  behind." 

"Let  me  see.    You  take  the  New  York  Pursuivant'!" 

"Yes,  of  course." 


128  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Then  watch  the  personal  columns — and — use  them 
when  necessary." 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"There  are  the  horses,  actually  neighing  with 
childish  impatience  to  be  off.  They  have  been  in  stall 
so  long,  I  suppose.  And  it  is  really  time  to  go. 
Dearest  dear,  good-bye!  I  thank  and  bless  Heaven 
that  I  have  seen  you,  to  know  you  so  well!  to  find 
you  so  good!  so  altogether  lovely!  Good-bye,  my  beaiv 
tiful!  my  beloved!" 

He  strained  her  to  his  bosom,  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers,  released  her  and  hurried  from  the  room.  Lilith 
sank  down  in  her  chair  and  burst  into  a  paroxysm  of 
sobs  and  tears. 

Then  suddenly  she  sprang  up,  with  a  great  effort 
controlled  her  emotion,  and  went  to  the  door  to  catch, 
if  possible,  the  last  glimpse  of  her  late  guest  before  he 
should  disappear  in  the  belt  of  woods  that  surrounded 
the  house.  He  was  indeed  near  that  bourne,  but  be- 
fore entering  it  he  drew  the  bridle  of  the  powerful 
black  horse  he  rode,  wheeled  him  around  and  looked 
towards  the  house.  Lilith  waved  her  handkerchief. 
He  kissed  his  hand,  threw  her  the  air  kiss,  wheeled 
his  horse  again  and  was  gone. 

Then  Lilith  returned  to  her  parlor,  sank  down  in  her 
chair,  dropped  her  head  upon  the  table,  and  prayed  for 
help  and  light  and  strength  to  take  her  safely  on  her 
dark  and  rugged  way. 

A  little  later  she  went  upstairs  in  the  aimless  sort 
of  manner  of  one  who  misses  something  and  cannot 
settle  herself  at  anything.  She  went  into  the  room 
lately  occupied  by  the  stranger.  It  was  now  in  perfect 
order,  and  Nancy  stood  by  the  neatly-made-up  white 
bed,  sorting  out  some  linen  that  had  come  in  from  the 
wash,  and  that  for  convenience  she  had  laid  upon  the 
top. 

"Look    yere,  young  mist'ess,  yere's  de  ole    Marse 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  129 

Major's  shirts  an'  han'chiefs  an'  fings,  wot  yer  told  me 
to  len'  to  dat  young  youf  wot  was  wedder-bound  yere 
widout  no  change  ob  clothes,"  said  the  woman,  who 
scarcely  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work. 

"Very  well,  Nancy,  if  they  are  sufficiently  aired  put 
them  away  in  the  proper  places,"  said  Lilith,  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  'Tain't  dat,  honey.  I  knows  well  'nough  wot  to  do 
wid  wot's  yere.  But  see  yere,  honey!  Dat  young 
ge'man  has  wored  away  a  whole  suit  ob  ole  Marse 
Major's  underclothes — shirt  an'  undershirt  an'  socks 
an'  all.  An'  he's  done  lef  a  whole  suit  ob  his  own 
yere.  Wot  we  gwine  do  'bout  it?" 

"Nothing  at  all.  It  is  not  of  the  least  consequence. 
Put  them  all  away  together." 

"Jes'  as  yer  say,  Miss  Lilif ;  on'y  I  fought  I  would 
tell  yer,"  replied  the  woman,  who  proceeded  to  place 
the  linen  on  the  shelves  of  the  late  master's  ward- 
robe. 

"Better  not  stay  in  dis  cole  room,  Miss  Lilif.  Alick 
done  let  de  fire  go  down,  an'  yer  might  get  cole,"  said 
Nancy,  when  she  had  finished  her  task  and  locked  up 
the  wardrobe,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  place. 

Lilith,  who  was  really  shivering  either  from  cold  or 
nervousness,  or  both,  went  out  and  passed  into  her 
own  bed-chamber,  where  a  good  fire  was  burning. 

She  had  scarcely  seated  herself  in  her  cushioned 
armchair  before  Nancy,  who  had  followed  her,  said: 

"Miss  Lilif,  I  don't  want  to  'larm  yer,  but  I  fink 
somebody  had  better  see  inter  wot  ails  Alick;  'deed 
I  do." 

"Is  Alick  ill?  But  he  cannot  be.  He  seemed  well 
enough  at  breakfast  time." 

"Maybe  yer  didn'  notice  him  much,  young  mist'ess. 
An'  maybe  he  was  'havin'  himse'f  befo'  de  stranger; 
an'  I  dunno  wedder  yer'd  call  it  ill,  young  mist'ess; 
but  I  beliebe  dat  nigger's  gwine  crazy." 


130  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"But  why  should  you  think  so?  And  how  long  have 
you  thought  so?" 

"  'Gaze  ebber  since  las'  night,  when  he  come  f  om  de 
pos'-offiee,  he  has  carried  on  like  anybody  deluded  out 
of  his  head.  'Deed,  it's  de  trufe." 

"But  in  what  way?  What  does  he  say?  What  does 
he  do?" 

"I  can't  hardly  tell  yer,  Miss  Lilif.  He's  fell  all  de 
way  down  de  stairs  twice  dis  week;  an'  it  is  on  my 
mine  as  he  mought  hab  hurt  his  brain-pan  an'  put  his- 
se'f  out'n  his  senses." 

Nancy  did  not  confess  the  dreadful  truth,  that  on 
the  last  occasion  of  A  lick's  rapid  downward  descent 
of  the  stairs  she  herself  had  assisted  it  by  knocking 
him  heels  over  head,  and  that  she  had  ever  since  been 
tortured  by  conscience. 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  in  what  manner 
Alick  shows  his  mental  derangement.  And  I  suspect 
it  is  only  your  own  fancy  after  all,"  said  Lflith. 

"No,  it  ain't,  honey.  Now  yer  shall  judge.  I  can 
hardly  tell  yer  wot  de  po'  critter  would  be  at.  But  dis 
is  de  way  he  goes  on.  Las'  night  he  come  inter  de 
kitchen  shakin'  his  head  an'  mutterin'  to  hisse'f,  an' 
sayin' — jes'  as  if  he  didn'  see  any  ob  us  cullud  people 
'roun',  w'ich  I  beliebe  he  didn'.  'Deed,  it's  de  trufe." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  say,  'Wot  made  me  go  do  dat  dar  fing?  'Spose 
dere  was  murder  done  froo  it?  Wot  made  me  go  an' 
do  it?  It  wor  de  debil!  'Deed  it  wor  de  debil!  I 
nebber  would  'a'  done  sich  a  dredfull  fing  of  my  own 
'cord." 

"Now,  young  mist'ess,  I  don't  mean  to  say  as  dem 
war  zactly  his  own  words;  but  wot  he  did  say  war  to 
dat  defect.  An'  ebber  so  much  more  ob  it.  So  den  at 
las'  I  say,  'Alick,'  I  say,  'wot  de  name  o'  sense  has  yer 
been  an'  gone  an'  done?'  I  say.  An'  he  say,  'NuffinY 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  131 

But,  'deed,  I's  feared  he's  deluded  out'n  his  head,  Miss 
Lilif." 

"Perhaps  he  has  been  drinking,"  suggested  the 
young  mistress. 

"Well,  now,  'haps  he  has.  But  I  nebber  smell  nuffin' 
offen  his  breaf.  But  maybe  dat  is  it.  Maybe  he  got 
some  ob  dat  rank  p'ison  cheap  w'iskey,  wot  dey  sells 
to  de  po'  ign'ant  cullud  men,  w'en  he  went  to  de  pos'- 
office  yes'day.  An'  ef  I  fines  out  dat  is  so,  won't  I 
make  him  rue  de  day,  dat's  all!" 

And  Nancy  stirred  the  fire,  settled  the  folds  of  the 
curtains  at  the  windows,  and  finally  left  the  room. 

Lilith  finally  sent  for  John  Fielding,  the  overseer  of 
the  plantation,  and  requested  him  to  look  after  Alick 
with  great  care,  and  promptly  report  any  evil  symp- 
toms he  might  discover.  The  manager  promised  to  do 
his  best.  Two  days  later  he  came  to  the  lady  and 
said: 

"I  think  the  man  has  something  on  his  mind.  He 
has  been  doing  something  that  troubles  his  conscience. 
He  seems  to  dread  discovery  and  punishment,  or  some 
other  painful  consequences.  But  I  cannot  induce  him 
to  confide  in  me,  nor  can  I  gain  the  slightest  clue  to 
the  nature  of  his  fault." 

"I  do  not  believe  the  man  to  be  capable  of  commit- 
ting any  serious  offence;  I  really  do  not,"  replied  the 
lady. 

"He  thinks  he  has.  He  thinks  he  has  committed 
some  crime  little  less  than  murder;  and  he  is  frigh- 
tened nearly  to  death  at  what  may  be  the  conse- 
quences. He  lays  the  blame  on  the  devil." 

"I  know  it.  But,  Mr.  Fielding,  the  poor  creature 
may  be  a  monomaniac  on  the  subject.  I  have  read 
that  monomaniacs  sometimes  accuse  themselves  of 
crimes  they  never  could  have  committed." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  so  I  have  heard,  too.    And  such  may 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

be  the  case  with  this  negro.  Something  should  be 
done  at  once." 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"Perhaps  you  might  send  him  away  for  a  time. 
Change  of  scene  might  help  him." 

"No,  I  would  not  like  to  send  him  out  of  our  own 
care  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  or  during  Mr.  Here- 
ward's  absence.  Besides,  though  he  may  be  a  lunatic, 
he  is  certainly  a  very  harmless  one  as  yet.  I  will  write 
to  Mr.  Hereward  and  ask  his  counsel.  Continue  to 
watch  the  man,  if  you  please,  and  let  me  know  if  you 
find  any  change." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN   UNEXPECTED   MEETING 

WHEN  Tudor  Hereward  bade  good-bye  to  his  child- 
wife  on  that  freezing  night  at  the  little  Frosthill  Rail- 
way Station,  and  settled  himself  in  his  seat  in  the 
crowded  car,  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  sweet,  shy, 
tender  girl  he  had  just  left,  rather  than  forward  to  the 
great  political  problems  that  must  soon  engage  all  the 
powers  of  his  mind  in  Washington. 

It  is  strange,  but  true,  that  though  Lilith  had  grown 
up  in  his  father's  house,  and  had  been  led  to  look  up  to 
Tudor  Hereward  as  to  a  superior  being,  whom  she 
grew  to  love  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  innocent  child 
heart — yet  he  had  taken  very  little  notice  of  her, 
scarcely  any  more,  indeed,  than  if  she  had  been  one 
of  the  colored  children  about  the  place.  When  she 
was  a  child  he  was  a  school-boy  at  the  Jefferson 
Academy;  when  she  was  a  half-grown  girl,  with  a  gov- 
erness at  home,  he  was  away  at  Harvard  University; 
and  when  he  graduated  with  the  highest  honors  he 
went  to  Europe  for  a  year's  travel;  when  he  finally 
returned  home  to  enter  upon  the  political  career  that 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  133 

most,  of  all  others,  attracted  him,  Lilith  was  away 
finishing  her  education  at  Vassar  College. 

On  reaching  Washington  the  passengers  left  the 
train  in  a  driving,  blinding  and  confusing  snow-storm 
that  obliterated  platform,  depot,  crowds,  carriages — 
everything  from  view.  Leaving  the  train  they  were 
speedily  covered  all  over  with  flakes.  They  were  as  a 
flock  of  white  phantoms  coming  through  a  white  temp- 
est to  a  white  city. 

Tudor  Hereward  tightened  his  ulster  about  him, 
threw  his  rugs  over  his  left  arm,  took  his  valise  in  his 
right  hand,  and  strode  off  towards  Pennsylvania 
Avenue  and  his  hotel. 

As  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  bath  and  his  breakfast 
he  sat  down  in  his  little  room,  at  the  very  top  of  the 
building,  to  write  to  Lilith. 

He  was  already  anxious  to  hear  from  her.  He  feared 
that  she  might  have  taken  cold  on  that  freezing  night 
when  she  drove  with  him  to  the  depot — and  colds  were 
often  dangerous  and  sometimes  fatal.  People  in  finest 
health  take  cold  and  die  of  pneumonia  with  awful  sud- 
denness, he  remembered. 

He  was  very  anxious  lest  that  lovely  little  face 
should  vanish  forever  from  his  view,  notwithstanding 
that  it  did  not  belong  to  "the  wife  he  had  dreamed 
of." 

So  he  cleared  a  corner  of  the  overloaded  table,  and 
sat  down  to  write  to  Lilith,  to  tell  her  of  his  own  safe 
arrival,  to  express  his  fears  for  her  health  and  well- 
being,  to  beg  her  to  answer  his  letter  by  return  mail, 
and,  above  all,  to  take  good  care  of  herself. 

Then  he  paused,  pen  in  hand,  before  writing  his  sig- 
nature. He  wished  to  be  kind  as  well  as  to  be  truth- 
ful. Finally  he  signed  himself  her  "Faithful  Hus- 
band." 

He  had  scarcely  settled  himself  in  his  seat  in  the 


134-  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

House,  and  the  business  of  the  dajr  had  not  yet  com- 
menced, when  one  of  the  pages  brought  him  a  card. 
He  glanced  at  it  and  changed  color.  It  bore  the 
name  of  "Miss  Von  Kirschberg." 

Under  the  name  was  written:  "Begs  to  see  Mr. 
Hereward  for  five  minutes  only." 

Tudor  Hereward  hesitated.  He  did  cot  wish  to  s^e 
Leda  Von  Kirschberg.  Soul  and  body  shrank  from  the 
meeting.  Yet  what  could  he  do?  The  hereditary  chiv- 
alric  deference  to  woman  that  had  descended  through 
an  hundred  sires  obliged  him  to  accede  to  her  request. 

"Where  is  this  lady?  In  the  reception-room?"  he 
inquired  of  the  page. 

"No,  sir;  in  the  library,"  replied  the  boy. 
.  Mr.  Hereward  arose  and  went  thither.  He  glanced 
up  and  down  the  room,  saw  the  chief  librarian  at  his 
desk,  and  two  or  three  assistants  going  to  and  fro  to 
put  up  or  take  down  books  from  the  shelves,  and  per- 
haps a  half  a  dozen  individuals  scattered  about  at  the 
various  tables;  and  at  last  he  saw  a  lady  seated  in  a 
distant  nook,  and  instantly  recognized  her  as  Leda 
Von  Kirschberg. 

"I  will  be  the  first  to  welcome  you  back,  Mr.  Here- 
ward," she  said,  slipping  her  daintily-gloved  hand 
from  her  sable  muff  and  putting  it  in  his. 

"I  thank  you,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg.  Pray  resume 
your  seat." 

She  sank  upon  the  sofa  and  said: 

"You  are  surprised  that  I  should  have  known  of 
your  arrival?" 

"Somewhat,  since  I  only  came  in  by  the  early  morn- 
ing train,"  he  answered,  deferentially. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Hereward,  and  I  will  tell  you  why 
one  lady  came  out  in  this  storm.  Tudor,"  she  said, 
dropping  her  voice  and  changing  color,  "I  have  been 
very  unhappy  since  our  bitter  parting  on  New  Year's 
Eve." 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  135 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  Miss  Von 
Kirschberg." 

"Ah,  do  not  speak  so  coldly!  You  would  not  if  you 
knew  what  I  have  come  here  to  say  to  you." 

Coldly!  It  required  all  his  power  to  control  the 
fever  of  emotion  into  which  her  presence  threw  him. 

"Tudor,"  she  whispered,  in  a  low  and  tender  tone, 
while  the  rose  deepened  to  crimson  on  her  oval  cheeks, 
"Tudor,  on  that  New  Year's  Eve  you  told  me  that  you 
loved  me,  that  your  whole  life's  happiness  depended 
on  my  love." 

"It  was  not  the  least  serious  mistake  of  my  life, 
Miss  Von  Kirschberg." 

"Ah,  no,  Tudor!  You  do  not  know.  It  was  not  a 
mistake.  It  was  the  voice  of  truth  and  destiny  that 
asked  me  to  become  your  wife." 

"And  you  answered  that  you  were  the  promised 
wife  of  another  man,"  he  replied,  icily,  trying  to  avoid 
the  fair,  radiant  face  whose  smile  had  still  the  power 
to  thrill  him  to  the  soul. 

"A  man  old  enough  to  be  my  grandfather — a  man  to 
whom  I  never  should  have  been  bound  by  a  betrothal 
at  which  even  you  laughed  in  scorn." 

"In  the  bitterness  of  disappointment  rather.  But 
let  that  pass.  You  very  properly  held  such  a  be- 
trothal, once  made,  forever  sacred." 

"I  did  until  after  the  agony  of  our  parting  on  that 
bitter  night.  Immediately  after  you  left  me  I  left  the 
ball.  I  went  home,  so  infinitely  desolate  in  the 
thought  that  all  was  over  between  us,  that  we  could 
never  again  meet  as  we  had  met,  never  again  be  any- 
thing, even  friends,  to  each  other,  that  I  wished  to  die. 
Then  a  desperate  remedy  occurred  to  me — to  write  to 
my  betrothed.  And  before  I  slept  that  night  I  wrote 
to  Mr.  Bruyin  and  told  him  the  truth.  It  was  his  due. 
And  I  appealed  to  his  generosity  for  my  release." 


136  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Leda!  Leda!"  he  exclaimed,  in  hoarse,  guttural 
tones. 

She  saw  his  strong  emotion,  and  she  misunderstood 
it,  of  course. 

She  smiled  her  radiant,  bewildering  smile,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"Mr.  Bruyin  generously  released  me.  He  could  not 
do  otherwise.  My  father  also  agreed  to  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  betrothal.  He  could  refuse  nothing  to  his 
only  child.  And  thus  I  am  free,  free,  Tudor!" 

"Leda!  Leda!"  he  breathed,  in  a  tone  almost  inau- 
dible in  its  deep  pain. 

"This  overwhelms  you,  my  frie'nd!  Ah,  you  did  not 
believe  in  the  love  that  you  sought,"  she  said,  joy- 
ously, still  misapprehending  his  emotion.  "Well,  I 
was  free.  I  never  went  out,  or  received  a  call,  until 
I  was  free.  Then  I  went  out  on  the  chance  of  meet- 
ing you;  but  I  could  see  you  nowhere." 

"I  had  left  the  city,"  he  murmured. 

"Yes,  so  I  heard  at  last.  So  I  might  have  learned 
earlier,  had  I  not  isolated  myself  so  much  and  been  so 
deeply  absorbed  in  the  one  anxiety  as  to  neglect  the 
newspapers.  It  was  only  on  the  evening  of  the  fifth 
day  that,  having  missed  seeing  you  in  the  House,  I 
asked  my  father  what  had  become  of  you.  He  told  me 
that  you  had  been  called  home  on  some  business,  lie 
had  forgotten  what,  but  thought  you  would  be  back 
soon.  The  next  day  I  went  to  the  ladies'  gallery  of 
the  House,  and  I  have  been  there  every  day  since, 
knowing  that  the  first  and  surest  place  to  find  you 
after  your  return  would  be  at  your  post  of  duty.  To- 
day, as  soon  as  I  saw  you  come  in,  I  sent  you  my  card 
that  you  might  come  to  me  at  once  before  the  serious 
business  of  the  day  should  commence.  And  so,  Tudor, 
the  question  you  asked  me  on  New  Year's  Eve  I  can 
answer  now  truly,  happily.  Tudor,  take  the  gift  you 
asked  for  then." 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  137 

Hereward  had  a  great  struggle  to  overcome  his  emo- 
tions, and  to  speak  calmly  the  words  that  the  case 
called  for.  His  pierced  and  rebellious  heart  cried  out 
within,  "Too  late!  Too  late!"  But  his  pale  lips,  that 
shook  under  his  fair  mustache,  said  coldly,  yet  very 
deferentially: 

"I  am  very  sorry  that  you  have  told  me  all  this,  Miss 
Von  Kirschberg.  I  tried  to  arrest  the  story,  but  had 
no  power  to  do  so.  I  beg  now  that  you  will  pardon  me 
for  having  heard  it,  and  to  believe  that  I  will  try  to 
speedily  forget  it." 

"But  why?  Why  do  you  speak  so,  Tudor?"  she  in- 
quired, in  alarm.  "Do  you  not  understand,  Tudor?  I 
tell  you  I  am  free — free!" 

"I  am  married,"  he  replied,  without  looking  up. 

She  stared  wildly  at  him,  while  all  color  and  ex- 
pression fled  from  her  radiant,  blooming  face,  leaving 
it  still  and  white  as  marble. 

"It  cannot  be  true!  It  is  a  poor  jest  for  you.  You 
were  not  thinking  of  marriage  a  week  ago,  except  with 
me.  You  were  proposing  to  me.  You  have  had  no 
time  since  that  to  seek  a  wife.  Oh,  say  that  you  were 
jesting  with  me!"  she  pleaded. 

"I  can  but  say  what  is  true.  I  can  but  repeat  that  I 
am  married." 

The  proud  woman,  who  had  humbled  her  pride  in 
vain,  tried  to  sustain  her  dignity  under  this  final  blow, 
but  failed.  Tudor  Hereward  saw  her  lips  grow  white 
and  her  head  sink,  and  he  hastened  to  bring  her  a 
glass  of  water.  She  bowed  her  thanks,  drank  it  and 
returned  the  empty  glass,  which  he  set  down  upon 
the  nearest  table. 

"Had  not  this  painful  interview  best  terminate  now, 
Miss  Aron  Kirschberg?"  he  inquired,  with  deferential 
interest. 


138  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

She  made  a  great  effort  to  rally  her  strength,  and, 
ignoring  his  question,  said: 

"This  marriage  seems  to  have  been  a  very  sudden 
one." 

"Very  sudden,"  he  assented. 

"And — who — was — the  bride?"  she  inquired,  speak- 
ing with  some  difficulty. 

"My  father's  adopted  daughter.  But  this  cannot 
interest  you,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg." 

"No,  it  cannot,  indeed.    And  you  do  not  love  her." 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Von  Kirschberg;  but  surely  this, 
also,  need  not  concern  you." 

"It  need  not  in  the  least  degree.  But,  poor  girl!  she 
is  much  to  be  pitied,  for  she  is  likely  to  be  very  un- 
happy." 

"I  shall  endeavor  to  prevent  that,  and  to  make  my 
child-wife  quite  content." 

"  'Child-wife!'  Ah,  that  explains  everything.  No 
woman  with  any  knowledge  of  her  own  heart  would 
take  a  man  so  suddenly.  But  she  will  be  a  woman 
some  of  these  days,  and  a  woman  very  much  to  be 
pitied." 

"I  cannot  see  why.    I  shall  try  to  make  her  happy." 

"A  woman  is  never  happy  unless  she  is  loved,  and 
most  unhappy  if  she  be  married  and  unloved,"  said 
Leda  Von  Kirschberg. 

Then  rising,  with  more  calm  dignity  than  her  pre- 
vious disturbance  could  have  promised,  she  said: 

"Mr.  Hereward,  I  am  detaining  you  from  important 
duties." 

He  bowed  profoundly  and  withdrew  from  the 
library. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  139 


CHAPTER  XV 

WARNING 

FROM  that  most  agitating  interview  in  the  Congres- 
sional Library,  Tudor  Hereward  went  to  his  seat  in 
the  House  of  Representatives. 

He  found  the  needed  quorum  there  at  last.  The 
members,  who  had  probably  been  delayed  by  the  snow- 
storm and  the  over-crowded  and  impeded  street  cars, 
were  at  last  in  their  seats,  and  the  affairs  of  the  nation 
were  in  full  blast. 

It  was  late  that  night  before  the  House  adjourned, 
and  the  young  statesman  walked  from  the  Capitol 
through  the  still  driving  storm  to  that  den  at  the  top 
of  the  hotel  which,  for  the  want  of  a  better,  he  called 
home.  He  was  utterly  wearied,  yet  triumphant,  for 
his  bill  had  passed,  though  by  a  small  majority. 

He  sat  down  in  his  disordered  room;  his  writing- 
table  piled  up  with  unanswered  letters;  his  waste- 
basket  overflowing  with  letters  never  to  be  answered. 

He  found  upon  his  table,  in  addition  to  all  the 
letters  he  had  laid  aside  to  answer,  a  dozen  or  so  of 
new  ones  that  had  come  in  during  the  day,  and  had 
been  brought  to  his  room  and  left  on  his  table  by  the 
hotel  porter. 

He  sat  long  into  the  night,  his  head  bent  over  his 
work,  his  pen  flying  over  the  paper. 

At  length,  when  outraged  nature  could  bear  no 
more,  though  half  the  letters  waited  to  be  answered, 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  took  out  his  watch 
to  see  if  there  were  yet  time  enough  to  ring  and  order 
up  a  sandwich  and  a  cup  of  tea. 

Five  o'clock!  And  so  swiftly  had  time  passed  in  hia 
deep  absorption  that  he  had  not  thought  it  later  than 
two.  Five  o'clock!  The  house  had  been  closed  for 


140  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

hours.  The  stormy  winter  day  had  not  yet  dawned. 
He  was  nearly  prostrated  through  working  and  fast- 
ing. It  was  impossible  to  get  anything  to  eat,  but  ho 
could  rest.  He  slowly  and  wearily  drew  off  his  clothes, 
turned  off  his  gas,  and  went  to  bed.  But  he  was  too 
tired  and  excited  to  sleep. 

"If  I  could  only  afford  the  help  of  a  private  secre- 
tary, this  wear  and  tear  of  mind  and  body  need  not  g  > 
on,"  he  said;  "but  that  is  a  luxury  that  must  not  be 
thought  of  at  present.  What  terrible  weather!  I  hope 
my  little  girl  caught  no  cold.  I  hope  she  is  comfort- 
able in  that  barn-like  old  manor  house.  She  must 
be  very,  very  lonesome,  poor  child.  Not  a  soul  in  the 
house  with  her  except  the  colored  servants.  And  no 
possibility  of  visiting  or  receiving  visits  in  such 
weather  as  this.  It  must  be  very  trying  for  her,  so 
soon  after  our  heavy  bereavement,  too.  I  half  wish 
I  had  brought  her  here  with  me.  Yet  in  what  respect 
would  she  have  been  better  off?  She  knows  no  one 
here.  And  in  her  deep  mourning  she  could  not  even 
have  gone  out  to  the  public  receptions.  And  wrhat 
company  should  I  be  to  her,  absent  at  the  Capitol  all 
day  long,  and  bending  over  my  writing-table  all  night? 
Besides,  she  would  hinder  my  work.  Yet,  poor  little 
girl!  it  cannot  be  helped.  She  must  stay  and  mope 
where  she  is,  and  I  must  stay  and  toil  at  my  post." 

At  length,  toward  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
when  the  first  faint  dawn  of  the  dark  winter  day  stole 
through  the  one  window  of  his'  room,  thoughts  became 
confused  with  dreams,  and  the  wearied  brain  and 
troubled  heart  found  rest  in  sleep. 

This  day  was  the  type  of  many  days  that  followed — 
the  forenoon  spent  in  committee-rooms,  the  afternoon 
and  evening  in  the  Hall  of  Representatives,  and  more 
than  half  the  night  in  his  dreary  and  disorderly  room, 
engaged  in  preparing  speeches,  and  writing  and  an- 
swering letters. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  141 

Only  on  one  occasion  did  Hereward  appear  in  pub- 
lic, and  then  only  as  a  matter  of  duty. 

Once  in  the  course  of  the  season  it  obliged  him  to 
attend  the  President's  reception. 

It  was  on  the  first  Friday  evening  after  his  return 
to  Washington. 

Conspicuous  among  all  the  ladies,  both  by  her  ma- 
jestic beauty  and  magnificent  toilet,  was  the  famous 
heiress,  Leda  Von  Kirschberg. 

Tudor  Hereward  felt  her  presence  through  every 
fibre  of  his  frame,  even  before  he  saw  her  face. 

She  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  very  decrepit  old 
gentleman,  who  was  not  her  father,  but  a  much  older 
and  very  much  richer  man,  understood  to  be  Mr. 
Nicholas  Bruyin,  the  happy  bridegroom-expectant  of 
the  handsome  heiress. 

Tudor  Hereward  heard  all  this  in  the  low  hum  of 
voices;  but  as  the  ill-assorted  pair  drew  near  him,  he 
turned  and  lost  himself  in  the  crowd  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

He  could  not  behold  her  face  or  hear  her  voice  with- 
out the  strongest  emotion,  even  though  now  he  dis- 
trusted her  more  than  ever.  How  came  she  to  be  here 
on  the  arm  of  her  old  lover  if  she  had  really  broken 
with  him,  as  she  had  said? 

Was  the  aged  billionaire  doting  as  well  as  decrepit, 
that  he  had  become  her  suppliant  after  such  a  rup- 
ture? Had  she  no  self-respect  that  she  yielded  to  his 
solicitations  and  reinstated  him  in  his  vacated 
position? 

Or — degrading  suspicion! — had  she  never  broken 
with  her  old  lover  at  all,  and  never  intended  to  break 
with  him  until  she  should  be  sure  of  an  engagement 
with  Tudor  Hereward?  Did  she  think  it  best  to  re- 
verse the  old  proverb,  and  act  upon  the  most  politic 
if  not  the  most  honorable  plan,  and  be  sure  to  be  on 
with  the  new  love  before  she  was  off  with  the  old? 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

Appearances  looked  exceedingly  like  it,  thought 
Hereward,  as  he  watched  her  from  a  distance,  distrust- 
ing her  thoroughly,  yet  thrilling  at  every  glance  of  her 
eyes,  or  tone  of  her  voice.  The  sight  of  Leda  Von 
Kirschberg  had  so  disturbed  him  that,  having  already 
paid  his  respects  to  the  President  and  his  circle,  he 
withdrew  from  the  crowded  rooms,  and  returned  to 
his  den  in  the  top  of  the  hotel,  and  sat  down  to  his 
writing-table  to  work  half  the  night;  for  on  the  next 
day  he  would  have  to  address  the  House  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  tariff. 

That  night  was  the  last  in  which  he  ever  saw  Leda 
Von  Kirschberg.  When  next  he  met  her  she  bore  an- 
other name. 

The  snow-storm  was  succeeded  by  sunny,  spring- 
like days. 

Hereward's  great  speech  on  the  tariff  has  passed 
into  history,  and  need  not  be  further  mentioned  here. 

When  he  returned  to  his  hotel  on  Saturday  night, 
he  went  first  into  the  reading-room  to  look  at  the  eve- 
ning papers. 

One  of  the  first  items  that  met  his  glance  was  this 
"Personal": 

"Mr.  and  Miss  Yon  Kirschberg,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Nicholas  Bruyin,  left  Washington  this  morning  by  an 
early  train  for  New  York.  The  marriage  of  Miss  Yon 
Kirschberg  and  Mr.  Nicholas  Bruj'in,  announced  some 
ten  days  ago,  is  to  be  celebrated  at  the  Cathedral  in 
New  York  on  Tuesday  next.  After  which  the  newly- 
married  pair  will  sail  on  the  fine  steamer  Kaiser  Wil- 
helm  for  Bremen,  on  a  visit  to  the  bridegroom's  rela- 
tives in  Germany.  They  expect  to  visit  Vienna,  Lon- 
don and  Paris,  but  to  be  in  Rome  for  the  Carnival." 

Before  Hereward  left  his  chamber  the  next  morning 
his  mail  was  brought  to  him  by  the  hotel  messenger, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  143 

who  had  taken  it,  together  with  all  letters  for  the 
house,  out  of  the  post-office — there  was  no  delivery  on 
the  Sabbath.  Hereward  sat  down  to  the  table,  not 
to  read  or«nswer  all  those  letters  then,  but  to  pass 
them  through  his  hands  and  see  whether  there  was 
any  one  from  Lilith,  on  whose  account  he  was  grow- 
ing very  anxious;  for  he  had  not  heard  from  her  since 
he  had  left  home.  He  looked  through  the  whole  par- 
cel without  finding  any  letter  directed  in  Lilith's  hand- 
writing. But  just  as  he  was  about  to  put  the  whole 
pile  aside,  his  glance  happened  to  fall  on  an  ill- 
directed  envelope  bearing  the  postmark  of  Frosthill. 
He  took  it  up. 
AND  ALICK'S  FIREBRAND  WAS  IN  HIS  HANDS. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LILITH'S  LONELINESS 

THROUGH  all  the  dreary  week  that  followed  the  de- 
parture of  her  mysterious  guest,  Lilith  moped  in  utter 
solitude — except  for  the  attendance  of  her  colored 
servants. 

When  the  storm  was  past  and  the  great  January 
thaw  set  in,  the  country  roads  were  even  in  a  worse 
condition  than  before. 

The  15th  of  January,  though  it  was  in  mid-winter, 
was  a  bright,  lovely,  summer-like  day. 

Lilith,  glad  to  greet  the  sunshine  and  warmth,  went 
out  after  breakfast  to  walk  up  and  down  on  the  long 
front  porch. 

Presently  a  carriage  appeared,  coming  around  the 
sweep  of  the  avenue,  and  soon  drew  up  before  the 
house. 


144  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Three  ladies  got  out  in  turn,  whom  Lilith  recognized 
as  they  appeared — first,  Mrs.  Jabez  Jordon,  wrapped 
in  a  costly  India  shawl,  wearing  a  black  velvet  bonnet 
and  carrying  a  South  Sea  otter  muff;  secondly,  her 
elder  daughter,  Miss  Harriet  Miles;  and  thirdly,  her 
younger  one,  Miss  Emily  Miles. 

Smiling  and  holding  out  her  hands,  Lilith  exclaimed, 
sincerely : 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  all!  Oh,  I  do  thank  you  so 
much  for  coming!" 

"We  should  have  come  before,  my  dear,  if  the 
weather  and  the  roads  had  permitted,"  said  Mrs.  Jor- 
don, as  she  received  the  girl's  welcoming  kiss. 

"Oh,  I  know!  I  know!  No  one  could  come  out 
under  such  circumstances.  But  now  you  have  come  to 
spend  the  day  with  me,  haven't  you?  And  you  will  let 
me  send  your  carriage  around  to  the  stables,  will  you 
not?"  eagerly  questioned  Lilith,  addressing  the  elder 
lady,  between  the  kisses  she  was  bestowing  on  the 
younger  ones  as  she  drew  them  up  the  steps. 

"Yes,  we  have  come  to  spend  the  day,"  said  Mrs. 
Jordon.  "Jed,"  she  added,  looking  back  over  her 
shoulder  to  the  coachman,  "put  the  horses  up,  and 
mind  that  you  rub  them  down  well." 

The  coachman  touched  his  hat  and  drove  off  towards 
the  stables. 

"The  state  of  the  roads  has  kept  everybody  away. 
Even  Ru's  stage  guests.  You  should  see  some  of  the 
oddities  Ru  brings  to  the  house,"  said  the  younger 
Miss  Miles. 

"What  sort  of  people  are  they?"  inquired  Lilith. 

"Why,  all  sorts  of  people.  Last  autumn,  when  the 
circus  was  at  Frosthill,  he  brought  the  clown  to  spend 
Sunday  and  stay  overnight.  Two  weeks  after  that  he 
brought  the  living  skeleton.  He  brings  all  sorts  of 
people,  except  respectable  people,  my  dear,"  said  the 
younger  Miss  Miles. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  145 

"Oh,  Emily!''  cried  the  elder  sister,  "you  cannot  say 
that  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  was  not  respectable!  He  was 
more  than  respectable!  Mrs.  Hereward,"  she  said, 
turning  from  her  sister  and  addressing  her  hostess, 
"this  gentleman  is  one  of  the  most  accomplished  men 
I  have  ever  met  in  my  life!  He  spent  a  day  and  night 
with  us  on  the  week  before  last." 

Mrs.  Jordon  put  in  her  word: 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Although  professionally  nothing 
better  than  a  strolling  player,  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  was 
really  a  very  gifted,  cultured  and  gentlemanly  person, 
but  looking,  for  all  his  youth  and  his  irrepressible 
gayety,  as  if  he  had  passed  through  the  fire  at  some 
period  of  his  life.  He  interested  me  very  much;  and 
as  for  Harriet  there,"  she  added,  nodding  towards  her 
elder  daughter — "well,  all  I  have  to  say  now  is  just 
this,  that  I  am  glad  the  young  fellow  went  away  when 
he  did.  And  well  as  I  liked  him,  I  hope  he  will  never 
come  back;  for  I  want  no  love-sick  girls  in  my  family!" 

"How  can  you,  mamma!"  exclaimed  the  elder  Miss 
Miles,  with  an  indignant  blush. 

"Pooh,  pooh!  my  child,  you  are  flesh  and  blood  like 
other  people,  for  all  your  dignity,"  laughed  jolly  Mrs. 
Jordon.  "But  now  let  the  subject  of  this  strolling 
player  drop.  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  of  him.  J 
came  here  for  a  purpose,  which  is  strengthened  by  all 
I  see.  Lilith,  my  little  angel,  I  came  this  morning  to 
carry  you  home  with  us  this  evening  to  Rushmore,  to 
spend  a  week." 

Lilith's  pensive  face  brightened  at  the  prospect;  but 
she  had  some  doubts  about  the  expediency  of  accept- 
ing her  kind  neighbor's  invitation. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Jordon,  I  thank  you  so  very,  very 
much,  indeed  I  do!  I  should  like  to  go  so  very  much. 
But — I  am  not  sure  that  it  would  be  quite  right  for  me 
to  leave  home  just  now,  so  soon  after — after — our 
great  loss,  and  in  the  absence  of  my  husband,  too.  I 


146  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

beg  pardon,  but  would  it?  Please  tell  me  yourself — 
not  what  you  and  I  wish,  for  you  want  to  have  me, 
and  I  want  to  go,  oh,  so  very  much! — but  what  you 
think,  when  you  reflect  upon  it;  is  right  and  proper 
for  me  to  do,"  said  Lilith,  earnestly. 

"My  child,  it  is  perfectly  right  and  proper  for  you  to 
accept  my  invitation  and  come  to  me  for  a  visit.  If  it 
had  not  been  so,  do  you  suppose  I  should  have  asked 
you?"  questioned  the  lady. 

"No,  of  course  not.  I  should  have  remembered 
that!  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Jordon,"  said  Lilith, 
ingenuously. 

"Nonsense,  my  dear!  There!  Go  and  see  to  your 
preparations." 

"My  preparations  are  soon  made.  I  shall  not  be 
gone  more  than  fifteen  minutes,"  replied  Lilith,  as  she 
smiled,  nodded,  and  left  the  room. 

She  ran  up  to  her  own  chamber  and  called  Nancy 
and  told  her  of  the  intended  visit. 

"An'  I  am  right  down  glad  to  hear  ob  it,  Miss  Lilif ! 
dat  I  am!  You's  been  moped  mos'  to  deaf  here  by 
your  lone  se'f!  Now,  wot  yer  want  me  put  up  for 
yer?"  inquired  the  woman. 

Lilith  told  her  and  added: 

"You  can  get  them  all  into  the  valise,  Nancy." 

Then  she  gave  her  housekeeper  a  few  instructions 
and  cautions  for  her  conduct  and  care  of  the  house 
during  the  next  week: 

In  conclusion  she  said: 

"And  if  there  should  be  any  serious  change  in 
Alick's  condition  send  and  inform  me  at  once." 

The  remainder  of  the  day  passed  very  pleasantly, 
and  after  an  early  tea  the  whole  party  set  out  to  drive 
to  Rushmore. 

The  moon  was  at  its  full  that  night,  and  the  roads 
were  in  good  condition.  So  the  drive  from  Cloud- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  147 

Capped  Cliffs  to  Kushmore  Lodge  was  a  very  pleasant 
one. 

Two  hours  of  rather  slow,  because  very  cautious, 
driving  brought  the  party  to  Rushmore  Lodge,  an  old- 
fashioned,  oblong  building  of  red  brick,  wTith  upper 
and  lower  piazzas  running  all  around  the  house,  which 
was  standing  in  the  midst  of  heavily-wooded  grounds. 

"Where  is  your  master?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jordon  of 
the  servant,  as  she  led  her  party  into  the  warm  and 
bright  interior. 

"Marse  Ru's  gone  to  de  show,  ma'am;  but  he  lef  his 
complimen's  an'  say  how  not  to  set  up  for  him,  'caze  he 
'spec's  he'll  be  late,"  replied  the  man,  as  he  followed 
his  mistress  and  her  party  into  the  parlor,  and  took  up 
the  tongs  to  mend  the  fire. 

"  'Show?'    What  show?"  demanded  the  lady. 

"I — I  dunno,  mist'ess,  indeed!  But  it  is  some  show 
or  rudder,  I  know." 

"That's  lucid,"  laughed  Mrs.  Jordon,  as  she  laid  off 
her  bonnet  and  shawl  and  invited  her  ypung  guest  to 
do  the  same. 

Then  they  all  dropped  into  the  easiest  chairs  and 
sofas  near  the  fire,  with  that  enjoyment  of  luxurious 
rest  which  follows  a  long  drive. 

And  after  awhile  the  crochet  and  embroidery  were 
taken  up,  and  light  work  and  lighter  chat  went  on 
until  ten  o'clock,  when  Mrs.  Jordon  had  refreshments 
brought  in — Lot  mulled  port  wine  and  pound  cake. 

When  they  had  dispatched  these  good  things  and 
sent  away  the  service,  the  domestics  were  called  in  for 
evening  prayers,  after  which  the  party  prepared  to 
separate  for  the  night. 

"Jupe,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon  to  the  old  man-servant 
who  had  come  in  to  cover  up  the  fire  and  put  out  the 
lights,  "I  think  you  "had  better  keep  up  the  fire  and 
bring  in  something  in  the  shape  of  supper  for  your 
master,  who  may  return  cold  and  hungry.  Mrs.  Here- 


148  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

ward,  I  will  take  you  to  your  room,"  said  the  hostess, 
drawing  Lilith's  arm  within  her  own  and  leading  her 
out  of  the  parlor. 

They  went  up  a  broad  flight  of  stairs  to  the  upper 
hall,  upon  which  several  doors  on  either  side  opened. 

"Those,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon,  pointing  to  a  row  of  four 
doors  on  the  left  as  they  went  up  the  hall,  "are  the 
chambers  reserved  for  Hilary  and  his  bachelor  friends. 
These,"  she  continued,  pointing  to  a  similar  row  on  the 
right,  "are  sacred  to  me,  my  girls,  and  our  visitors. 
Here,  my  dear,  is  yours,  the  first  one  we  come  to;  the 
next  is  the  girls',  and  the  farthest  off,  the  front  one, 
is  mine." 

Saying  this,  Mrs.  Jordon  opened  the  door  before 
which  they  stood  and  ushered  Lilith  into  her  bed- 
chamber. 

Old  Persian  rugs  lay  about  the  room  wherever  they 
were  most  needed — as  before  the  fire,  beside  the  bed, 
and  below  the  dressing  bureau. 

A  broadly-smiling  young  negro  girl  stood  by  the 
washstand,  showing  in  her  attitude  and  expression 
how  glad  she  was  to  see  company,  and  how  eager  she 
felt  to  make  herself  useful. 

"Here  is  Soph.  She  will  wait  on  you,  my  dear,  and 
you  will  find  her  a  docile  little  maid,  if  not  a  very 
bright  one,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon. 

"I  should  think  Soph  very,  very  bright  indeed,"  an- 
swered Lilith,  looking  kindly  on  the  smiling  lips  and 
laughing  eyes  of  her  new  attendant. 

Finally  the  hostess  went  all  over  the  room  to  see 
that  her  guest  had  everything  she  needed,  and  then 
she  and  her  daughters,  who  had  followed  her,  kissed 
Lilith  good-night  and  left  her. 

Lilith  prepared  for  bed. 

"I  need  not  detain  you,  Sophy,"  she  said  to  her  new 
maid. 

"Den  I's  feared  yer  doan  like  me,  mist'ess,  's  well  as 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  149 

I  do  you,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  grieved  and  disap- 
pointed tone. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,  Sophy.  I  like  you  very  much  in- 
deed," said  the  young  lady,  smiling  on  the  girl. 

"Well,  den,  mist'ess,  w'y  woan  yer  let  me  take  down 
yer  ha'r  an'  bresh  it,  an'  pull  off  yer  shoes  an* 
stockin's,  an'  yub  yer  feet,  like  Suke  does  fer  de  ole 
mist'ess,  and  Sal  does  fer  de  young  mississes?"  said 
Soph,  in  a  complaining  tone. 

Lilith  laughed  as  she  understood  the  situation. 

Here  was  a  young,  inexperienced  girl,  proud  of  her 
promotion  to  the  position  of  a  lady's  maid,  and  anxious 
to  be  trusted  with  all  the  duties  of  her  office,  even  to 
those  most  menial  services  which  the  self-indulgence 
of  the  other  ladies  required  of  their  maids. 

Lilith  was  too  good-natured  to  disappoint  the  girl. 

"Oh,  yes;  certainly  you  shall  do  all  this  for  me  if 
you  will  be  so  kind.  It  is  late,  and  I  did  not  wish  to 
keep  you  up;  that  is  all,  child,"  she  said,  as  she 
dropped  into  a  low-backed  chair,  and  let  down  all  her 
curly  black  hair,  and  put  it  at  her  little  maid's  mercy. 

Arming  herself  with  a  stiff  brush,  which  she  took 
from  the  bureau,  and  muttering  to  herself  that — 
"Nuffin'  wasn't  no  trouble,  an'  she  did  like  to  set  up 
late,  'special  now  w'en  she  would  be  'feared  to  go 
downsta'rs  in  de  dark  by  herse'f,  'fo'  Suke  an'  Sal  come 
out'n  de  yudder  yooms  to  go  'long  ob  her,"  she  com- 
menced experimenting  on  Lilith's  silky  black  tresses. 

Lilith  had  rather  expected  to  be  tortured,  but  she 
was  agreeably  disappointed. 

Then  she  sat  down  and  drew  off  the  young  lady's 
shoes  and  stockings  and  insisted  on  "yubbing"  her 
feet.  It  was  while  she  was  engaged  in  this  work  that 
she  suddenly  broke  out  with: 

"I  hope  Marse  Ru  won't  fetch  none  ob  dem  dere 
hobgobs  yere,  mist'ess." 

"Hobgobs?"  repeated  Lilith,  questioningly. 


150  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Yes,  mist'ess,  shows,  an'  sarcusses,  an'  tings ! 
Ebery  time  dey  come  to  de  town  ober  yander  Marse 
En  'vvites  'em  yere  an'  entertains  'em  jes'  's  if  dey  was 
p'esiden's  an'  gen'als  an'  fings.  Ole  mist'ess  doan 
'probe  ob  it,  an'  no  mo'  doan  we-dem  cullud  people." 

"There,  jophy!  There  are  your  friends  coming," 
said  Lilith,  glad  to  stop  the  girl  from  gossip  without 
hurting  her  rather  sensitive  feelings. 

"Oh,  my!  Dey  musV  go  downsta'rs  an'  leabe  me  to 
fin'  my  way  in  the  dark!"  cried  Soph,  unceremoniously 
going  to  the  door,  opening  it  and  calling  to  her  two 
giggling  fellow-servants: 

"Come  in  yere  an'  wait  fo'  me.  I  ain't  got  t'rough, 
wid  my  lady  yet.  I  doan  hurry  t'rough  my  work  an' 
'lect  my  ladies,  I  doan!" 

Glad  of  an  excuse  to  come  in  and  see  a  new  face,  the 
two  maids  entered,  still  giggling,  courtesied,  and  stood 
respectfully  just  inside  the  closed  door. 

Lilith  smiled  and  nodded  to  them,  while  Soph 
proudly  went  about  the  chamber  picking  up  and  put- 
ting away  her  new  mistress'  effects. 

At  last  even  Soph  herself  was  satisfied  to  confess 
her  services  complete,  for  the  time  being. 

She  courtesied .  good-night  to  her  new  lady,  joined 
her  companions  and  left  the  room. 

Lilith  locked  the  door  after  them,  turned  down  her 
light  and  went  to  bed. 

Few  people  can  go  to  sleep  at  once  in  a  strange  bed. 
Lilith  could  not.  It  was  not  care  that  kept  her  awake, 
not  even  care  concerning  that  terrible  family  secret 
which  had  come  to  her  knowledge  through  reading  the 
old  letters;  for  the  disclosures  of  her  mysterious  visi- 
tor— even  while  his  presence  filled  her  with  intense 
anxiety — had  taken  the  venomed  sting  out  of  that  old 
horror. 

At  length  Lilith  dropped  into  a  sound  sleep,  from 
which  she  did  not  awake  until  morning. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  151 

Then,  indeed,  she  was  shocked  from  her  slumber 
with  a  vengeance. 

A  rumbling  and  tumbling  noise,  as  if  the  wrhole 
house  was  falling  over  her  head,  accompanied  by  a 
succession  of  piercing  screams,  wrenched  her  so  rudely 
and  suddenly  from  the  land  of  dreams,  that  wrhen  she 
found  herself  she  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  instinctively,  blindly  getting  into  her  dressing- 
gown,  while  the  piercing  screams  continued  to  split 
the  air. 

In  another  instant  Lilith  had  torn  open  her  chamber 
door  and  burst  out  into  the  hall,  breathlessly  de- 
manding: 

"What  is  the  matter?  Oh,  what  is  the  matter? 
Who  is  hurt?  Is  any  one  killed?" 

While  outside  the  other  bedroom  doors  stood  other 
members  of  the  family — Mrs.  Jordon  and  her  two 
daughters,  all  in  their  hastily  put  on  wrappers,  and 
Mr.  Rufus  Hilary,  in  his  blue  dressing-gown,  and  with 
his  red  hair  on  end,  and  all  in  the  highest  state  of 
terror  and  excitement,  demanding,  as  with  one  voice: 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?  What  is  it?  What 
has  happened?  Is  the  house  on  fire?  Has  murder 
been  done?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"FOREGATHERED  wi'  THE  DE'IL" 

THE  shrieks  continued  without  an  instant's  inter- 
mission. 

"It  is  downstairs — whatever  it  is!  Rufus  Hilary, 
why  don't  you  run  and  see?"  cried  Mrs.  Jordon,  shiver- 
ing with  cold  in  the  bleak  hall. 

"I'll  bet  anything  in  this  world  that  it  is  nothing  but 
those  idiotic  negro  girls!  There!  you  see,  they  have 


152  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

stopped  yowling  now!  Of  course  it  was  those  fools! 
Frightened  at  Heliogabolas,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr. 
Hilary,  as  his  pug  nose  and  freckled  face  grew  red 
with  annoyance. 

"Helio — who?  What?  Is  that  another  new  dog 
you  have  been  buying,  Rufus?" 

"It's  not  a  dog,  mother.  It's  Heliogabolas!  That 
is  to  say,  the  name  in  full  is  Kadmus  Heliogabolas 
Arminicus,  the  tattooed  giant,  one  of  the  greatest  won- 
ders in  this  world!  I  brought  him  home  with  me  last 
night  after  you  had  all  gone  to  bed." 

"And  I  suppose  the  wretched  maids,  coming  up- 
stairs to  their  duties,  met  this  tattooed  giant  coming 
down  and  took  him  for  the  devil,  and  no  wonder!" 
angrily  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jordon. 

"Yes!  That's  it!  That's  the  row!  Now,  don't  be 
frightened;  there's  no  harm  done!  I'll  go  down  as 
soon  as  ever  I'm  dressed.  BY  JOVE!" 

This  last  objurgation  was  called  forth  and  uttered 
resentfully  at  the  sudden  sight  of  Lilith,  who  still 
stood  just  inside  her  chamber  door,  but  whom  Bufus, 
in  his  excitement,  had  not  chanced  to  notice  until  this 
moment.  He  shot  back  into  his  bedroom  and  banged 
to  the  door. 

As  soon  as  her  son  had  vanished  from  the  scene, 
Mrs.  Jordon  went  to  her  guest  and  said,  apologet- 
ically: 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Hereward,  I  am  so  mortified  that  you 
should  have  been  disturbed  in  this  reprehensible  man- 
ner, on  this  very  first  morning  o'f  your  visit.  What 
must  you  think  of  us?  But,  my  love,  ever  since  Rufus 
Hilary  came  into  possession  here,  this  place  has  been 
'Headlong  Hall;'  no  better!  And  he  brought  one  of 
his  monstrosities  home  with  him  last  night,  as  you 
have  just  heard,  and  terrified  the  poor  negro  girls  out 
of  their  wits.  Ah!  If  I  were  in  authority  here  I'd 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  153 

soon  'show'  these  show  people  that  this  manor  house 
is  not  a  common  caravansary!" 

"Oh,  please,"  began  Lilith,  as  soon  as  she  could  put 
in  a  word — "please  don't  mind  me.  Bless  you!  I  like 
it  all!  I  think  it  very  amusing!  I  do,  indeed!  And 
just  think  what  fun  it  will  be  to  have  the — what  is  he? 
— the  tattooed  Arminian  giant  in  the  house  with  us! 
Perhaps  at  the  breakfast  table  with  us.  Will  he  break- 
fast with  us,  Mrs.  Jordon?" 

"Oh,  I  dare  say,  my  dear.  Breakfast  with  us,  dine 
with  us,  sup  with  us,  stay  all  night  with  us,  and  live 
with  us  as  long  as  he  pleases,  for  aught  I  know  to  the 
contrary,"  exclaimed  the  highly  provoked  woman. 

"Quite  right!  We  shall  find  a  great  deal  of  amuse- 
ment in  him,"  said  Lilith,  with  a  gay  little  nod,  as  she 
re-entered  her  bedroom  and  closed  the  door. 

She  found  the  room  warm  enough  to  dress  in.  The 
great  fire  of  heavy  hickory  logs  had  kept  up  all  night, 
though  the  bright  blaze  had  long  subsided  to  a  dull, 
red  glow. 

Lilith  replenished  it  from  a  box  of  pine  kindlings  in 
the  corner,  raised  a  cheerful  blaze,  and  then  began  to 
make  her  morning  toilet. 

It  was  very  well  that  she  could  dispense  with  the 
attendance  of  a  maid;  for  all  Mrs.  Jordon's  peremp- 
tory tintinnabulations  were  utterly  unproductive  of 
maid-servants  from  below. 

At  last  that  lady  dressed  herself  in  the  cold  and  hur- 
ried downstairs  in  heat. 

In  her  haste  she  ran  against  old  Jupe,  the  butler, 
who  was  crossing  the  hall  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  with 
a  large  waiter  of  china,  which  he  was  taking  into  the 
dining-room  to  set  the  breakfast  table.  Jupe  reeled 
and  then  recovered  himself  amid  the  jingling  of  the 
tea-cups,  without  serious  damage  to  his  nerves,  or 
other  remark  than — 

"Lor'-a-messy  upon  me!" 


154  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Where  are  the  maid-servants?  Where  is  Sally? 
Where  is  Sukey?  Where  is  Sophie?  WThere  is  every- 
body? Why  don't  someone  answer  my  bell?  Why 
have  the  maids  not  come  up  to  make  the  fires?  And 
what  has  been  the  reason  of  all  this  hullabaloo  down- 
stairs? Can't  you  answer  me?  Leave  off  staring  and 
speak,  you  idiot!  It  was  the  man  from  the  show  that 
frightened  the  maids,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  mist'ess,  in  coorse  it  wer  him — dat  derc 
speckled  an'  striped  an'  spotted  giant.  He  did  it! 
He  scarified  dem  po'  chillun  inter  fits!  An'  'nough 
to  do  it,  too!  I  seen  him,  mist'ess — a  great,  tall, 
broad  man,  wid  a  big  head,  an'  his  face,  an'  his  neck, 
an'  his  arms,  an'  his  legs,  'low  de  knees,  all  de  bright 
colors  ob  de  rainbow — blue,  an'  yallor,  an'  red,  an' 
green!  Wid  a  great  w'ite  turban  big  as  a  wash-tub 
on  his  head,  an'  a  great  black  beard,  much  as  free 
or  fo'  hosses'  tails,  hangin'  from  de  middle  ob  his  face 
to  de  middle  ob  his  body!  An'  he  dress'  so  funny. 
I  nebber  could  'scribe  it!  all  loose  w'ite  trousers, 
an'  star-spangle'  banners,  an'  scarfs,  an'  silver  dollars. 
He  wer  a  sight  to  behold,  mist'ess!  I  seen  him,  mis- 
t'ess, jes'  as  he  wer  a-comin'  down  an'  dem  free  mis- 
fortinit  gals  was  a-goin'  up.  An'  nex'  fing  all  free  ob 
'em  opened  deir  wide  moufs  an'  screamed  fit  to  split 
de  roof  offen  de  house,  an'  tumbled  heels  ober  head 
all  de  way  down  de  stairs  an'  lay  kickin'  an'  screechin' 
dere,  all  mix'  up  togedder  so  yer  couldn'  tell  one  f  om 
t'oder,  or  heads  f'om  foots!" 

"And  what  did  that  monster  do  when  he  saw  the 
mischief  he  had  caused?" 

"Nuffin'.  Jes'  stalk'  right  ober  dem  as  if  dey  had 
been  so  much  dirt  under  his  feet,  an'  stalk  right  out'n 
de  font  do',  w'ich  happen  to  be  open,  'caze  I  war  jes' 
shakin'  de  mats  out — leastways  I  had  been  a-doin' 
so." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  155 

"I  went  to  dem  chillun  an'  picked  'em  all  up  offen  de 
flo'  an'  tried  to  make  'em  unnerstan'  as  dere  was 
nuffin'  't  all  to  be  af eared  ob.  But  Lor'!  I  might's  well 
hab  talk'  to  a  t'unner  storm!  Jes'  all  de  answer  I  got 
wer  all  free  ob  dem  a-screechin'  in  my  ears  at  once 
fit  to  bust  de  top  ob  my  head  off." 

"Ugh!"  grunted  the  lady,  in  strong  disgust.  "Where 
is  the  ogre  now?" 

"Yer  mean  de  speckled  giant,  mist'ess?" 

"Yes." 

"Out  do's  some'rs." 

"Well,  go  in  with  your  waiter  and  set  the  table." 

"An'  make  a  place  fo'  de  speckled  giant,  mist'ess?''' 

"Yes,  of  course.    He  is  your  young  master's  guest." 

Rufus  Hilary,  who  was  longing  to  go  down  to  the 
bright  parlor  fireside,  yet  dared  not  meet  his  mother 
alone  for  fear  of  a  severe  lecture,  had  waited  until  he 
saw  the  three  younger  ladies  descend  the  stairs,  and 
then  he  followed  them,  and  in  the  neatest  of  morning 
toilets  entered  the  parlor. 

He  nodded  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  and  then  went 
up  to  Lilith,  and  offering  his  hand  with  some  little 
embarrassment,  said  how  very  glad  he  was  to  see  her, 
and  how  very  grateful  he  felt  for  the  honor  she  had 
done  his  mother  and  sisters  in  coming  home  with 
them. 

"It  is  I  who  should  be,  as  I  am,  indeed,  very  grateful 
to  your  dear  mother  for  coming  to  me  in  my  solitude 
and  fetching  me  away  from  my  lonely  home,  so  full  of 
sorrowful  associations,  and  bringing  me  to  this  pleas- 
ant and  sociable  home,"  said  Lilith,  smiling. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  say  this.  And  we  shall  do  all 
we  can  to  amuse  you.  You  will  presently,  however, 
meet  a  very  strange  individual  whom,  I  hope,  you  will 
believe  that  I  should  not  have  brought  to  the  house 
had  I  known  that  you  were  to  be  here,"  said  Rufus, 
deprecatingly. 


156  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Then  I  am  glad  you  did  not  know  that  I  was  com- 
ing, Mr.  Hilary;  for,  indeed,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see 
your  tattooed  chief." 

"Rufus,  where  did  you  leave  your  guest?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Jordon. 

"Walking  up  and  down  there  on  the  front  piazza. 
He  hates  to  stay  in  the  house,  so  that  I  thought  I 
wouldn't  bring  him  in  until  breakfast  should  be 
ready." 

"Breakfast  will  be  ready  in  a  very  few  minutes  now, 
so  I  think  you  had  better  go  and  bring  him  in." 

"Now,  girls,  don't  scream.  He  is  a  terrific  object, 
but  he  is  as  gentle  as  a  lamb;  indeed  he  is." 

Mr.  Hilary  then  went  out,  and  soon  returned  with 
the  tattooed  giant  in  his  wake.  He  introduced  him  as 
follows: 

"Ladies,  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you  His 
Sublime  Highness,  Prince  Kadmus  Heliogabolas  Ar- 
minicus,  the  great  Arminian  chieftain,  who  was  taken 
prisoner  in  his  youth  by — a — who  were  they? — some 
savages,  who  disfigured  (or  decorated  him,  as  you  like 
to  consider  it)  in  this  way;  and  from  whom,  after  the 
most  terrible  sufferings  and  the  most  heroic  achieve- 
ments, he  finally  escaped." 

While  Rufus  was  delivering  this  speech,  which  was 
nearly  identical  with  that  of  the  showman,  his  little 
audience  had  time  to  examine  the  giant. 

A  giant  he  was,  in  point  of  fact,  eight  feet  high  if  an 
inch,  with  a  ninth  foot  added  in  the  height  of  his  head- 
gear. 

But  let  us  describe  him  as  he  stood,  beginning  at  the 
top,  which  was  very  near  the  ceiling  of  the  room. 

First,  there  was  an  immensely  exaggerated  white 
turban,  with  a  stiff  gold  (or  gilt)  feather  sticking 
straight  up  from  the  top,  and  a  string  of  small  gold 
(or  brass)  coins  wound  in  and  out  among  its  folds. 
Below  that  a  face  with  finely  carved  features  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  157 

splendid  black  eyes,  but  a  face,  neck  and  arms  so 
vividly  tattooed  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  as 
to  be  hideous  and  utterly  indescribable,  except  in  the 
one  particular  of  the  broad  black  rings  that  sur- 
rounded his  black  eyes,  giving  to  their  appearance 
a  supernatural  and  horrible  size.  A  long  and  full 
curling  black  beard  rolled  down  to  his  waist.  A 
sleeveless  tunic  of  cloth  of  gold  (or  gilt),  stamped  all 
over  with  hieroglyphics  of  silver,  blue  and  red, 
reached  from  his  neck  to  his  hips.  Below  that,  full 
white  trousers  covered  his  limbs,  and  were  gathered 
under  gold  bands  over  his  knees,  leaving  the  sturdy, 
tattooed  ankles  and  sandaled  feet  bare,  except  for  the 
cross-gartering  of  silver  and  gold  braid.  Heavy  gold 
bands  encircled  his  arms. 

All  these  details  the  ladies  of  the  house  took  in  at  a 
glance  while  Ruf  us  Hilary  was  introducing  his  strange 
guest. 

The  tattooed  giant  acknowledged  the  introduction 
by  folding  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  and 
"salaaming"  until  his  white  turban  touched  his  gilt 
sandals. 

"Breakfast  is  growing  cold,"  snapped  Mrs.  Jordon. 

"All  right.  Lead  the  way  to  the  table,  and  we  will 
follow  you,"  said  Rufus,  as  he  reached  up  his  hand 
and  put  it  under  the  giant's  arm,  to  lead  him  after  the 
ladies  to  the  breakfast  room. 

The  largest  and  strongest  chair  in  the  house  had 
been  placed  at  the  side  of  the  table  by  the  order  of 
Mr.  Hilary,  for  the  accommodation  of  the  giant. 

At  the  suggestion  of  Hilary,  the  giant  was  served 
with  coffee,  not  in  a  coffee  cup,  but  in  a  china  bowl, 
with  a  cake  plate  for  a  saucer.  He  was  also  served 
as  abundantly  with  venison  steaks  and  buckwheat 
cakes  on  the  largest-sized  dinner  plates. 

But  he  eschewed  the  use  of  knives  and  forks,  and 
tore  and  ate  his  food  with  teeth  and  fingers,  sucking 


158  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  latter  at  intervals,  and  holding  them  up  and  look- 
ing expectantly  at  the  negro  who  happened  to  be 
nearest  to  him. 

Hilary,  who  watched  his  guest  closely  and  tried  to 
understand  his  signs,  beckoned  Jed  and  told  him  to 
take  his  place  behind  the  giant's  chair,  with  a  clean 
napkin  in  his  hand,  and  to  wipe  his  "highness' }' 
fingers  whenever  his  highness  held  them  up.  Jed, 
with  his  wool  bristling  and  his  flesh  creeping,  obeyed. 

The  two  young  ladies,  wrho  sat  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table,  had  to  keep  their  eyes  upon  their  plates 
to  avoid  a  sight  that  made  them  sick. 

Lilith,  who  on  this  occasion  sat  near  Mrs.  Jordon  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  was,  fortunately  for  her,  not  in 
the  line  of  view. 

It  was  long  before  the  elephantine  appetite  of  the 
giant  could  be  satisfied.  Belays  of  venison  steaks, 
sausages,  and  buckwheat  cakes  came  in  from  the 
kitchen  and  vanished  before  the  gastronomic  powers 
of  the  monster.  Kelays  of  napkins  also  came  out  of 
the  sideboard  drawers,  and  were  spoiled  in  turn  and 
dropped  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor  by  Jed,  whose  brist- 
ling hair  had  time  to  come  quite  out  of  curl  in  the 
hour  of  terror,  when  he  waited  behind  the  "speckled 
giant's"  chair  to  wipe  his  greasy,  tattooed  fingers. 

At  last  the  barbarian  was  satisfied. 

And  when  Mrs.  Jordon  was  quite  sure  of  the  fact, 
she  gave  the  signal  to  rise  from  the  table. 

Mr.  Hilary  arose,  and,  as  before,  put  his  hand  with- 
in the  arm  of  the  giant  to  lead  him  forth. 

The  ladies  lingered  around  the  fire  to  talk  of  the 
monster. 

"Such  a  beast!  It  made  me  sick  to  see  him  eat  with 
his  fingers  and  then  suck  them — the  pig!"  said  Har- 
riet. 

"Do  m£R  ffjek  their  fingers?"  inquired  Emily. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  159 

"But,  withal,  lie  was  cleanly  in  his  way.  He  always 
held  up  his  hands  to  be  wiped,  after  he  had  licked 
them.  What  did  you  think  of  him,  Mrs.  Hereward?" 
inquired  Mrs,  Jordon. 

"I  thought  him  very,  very  amusing,"  exclaimed 
Lilith. 

"Although  he  never  spoke  a  word?"  , 

"Although  he  never  spoke  a  word,"  replied  Lilith. 
"But  mind,"  she  added,  "I  do  not  feel  at  all  sure  that 
he  is  what  he  pretends  to  be.  He  is  a  giant,  certainly. 
That  fact  is  undeniable;  but  I  doubt  about  all  the  rest 
of  him." 

"But  how,  my  dear?    Why?" 

"Nationalities  seem  rather  mixed  in  him.  His  cos- 
tume is  incongruous,  rather,  and  so  are  his  manners. 
They  all  seem  to  me  a  skilful  stage  make-up,  or  what 
I  should  imagine  to  be  such.  He  is  a  giant,  of  course; 
we  see  that;  but  I  doubt  the  story  about  his  being  an 
Arminian  chieftain  stolen  in  his  boyhood  and  tattooed 
by  savages.  I  doubt  his  being  tattooed  at  all.  I  sus- 
pect him  to  be  a  European  or  American  giant,  who  is 
merely  painted  to  simulate  tattooing,  and  that  these 
decorations  disappear  whenever  he  takes  a  bath." 

"What  a  disillusionist  you  are,  Lilith!  But  what 
about  his  salaaming,  and  his  eating  with  his  fingers?" 
inquired  Emily. 

"All  acting,  perhaps,  my  dear;  and  not  very  consis- 
tent acting  either.  Mind,  I  only  suspect  this.  I  do  not 
know  it.  And,  in  any  case,  I  really  find  him  very 
amusing." 

"Well,  my  love,  real  or  counterfeit,  I  find  him  an 
intolerable  nuisance,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon,  leading  the 
way  from  the  breakfast  room. 


160  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

LILITH    IS    SUMMONED 

BUT  the  visitor  did  not  stay  another  night;  he  could 
not.  He  dined  with  the  family,  on  which  occasion 
very  much  the  same  scenes  recurred  that  had  been  en- 
acted at  the  breakfast  table. 

After  dinner  the  guest  retired  again  to  the  big  par- 
lor to  sit  on  the  "divan"  improvised  for  him  by  his 
host,  and  to  smoke  his  chibouk.  Coffee,  cakes  and 
sweetmeats  were  served  to  him  there  by  a  deputation 
of  three  waiters — Jupe,  Jed  and  Tim — headed  by  their 
master;  for  not  one  of  the  darkies  would  venture  into 
the  presence  of  the  speckled  giant  and  suspected  man- 
eater  alone. 

When  the  monster  had  drank  several  quarts  of 
coffee,  and  eaten  several  pounds  of  confectionery,  he 
slowly  reared  himself  from  his  recumbent  position, 
and  then  prepared  to  leave  the  house. 

Hilary  convoyed  him  into  the  presence  of  the  ladies 
of  the  family,  who  were  all  seated  at  their  work  in  the 
little  parlor. 

They  all  arose  on  his  appearance. 

"Prince  Kadmus,  and  so  forth,  is  about  to  return  to 
Frosthill  for  the  evening  exhibition,  to  which  I  shall 
accompany  him.  As  he  leaves  this  neighborhood  to- 
morrow morning  he  wishes  to  bid  you  good-bye,  or 
something  to  that  effect." 

And  having  said  thus  much  Mr.  Hilary  stepped 
aside,  and  the  Arminian  chieftain  salaamed  in  the 
most  solemn  manner  four  distinct  times,  and  then 
backed  out  into  the  hall,  where  Mr.  Hilary  was  put- 
ting himself  into  his  ulster  and  fur  cap. 

A  large  open  wagon,  drawn  by  two  strong  mules, 
stood  before  the  house,  with  the  panic-stricken  Jed 
on  the  driver's  seat. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  161 

Up  into  this  vehicle  the  giant  stepped,  and  sinking 
upon  the  seat,  made  the  whole  structure  creak  and 
groan  under  his  weight. 

Mr.  Hilary,  leaving  the  whole  of  the  back  seat  to  the 
accommodation  of  his  enormous  guest,  lightly  stepped 
into  the  wagon  and  took  his  place  upon  the  box  be- 
side the  driver,  greatly  to  the  encouragement  of  Jed's 
intimidated  spirit. 

And  so  they  started  for  Frosthill. 

"Go  and  open  every  one  of  the  windows  in  the  big 
parlor,  every  one  of  them !  Take  that  mattress  and  rug 
outdoors  and  hang  them  on  the  fence.  Mix  a  bucket 
of  chloride  of  lime,  and  set  it  on  the  hearth.  Then 
shut  the  parlor  door  and  leave  all  so  till  bed-time!" 

Such  were  the  prompt  and  peremptory  orders  given 
by  Mrs,  Jordon  to  old  Jupe,  as  soon  as  the  sound  of  the 
wagon  died  away  in  the  distance. 

"Xow,  my  dears,  thank  Heaven  the  monster  is  gone 
and  we  can  have  our  tea  in  peace — and  decency!" 

"Will  you  never  believe  me?  Can  I  never  convince 
you  how  very  much  I  have  enjoyed  this  bizarre  day? 
This  wide  departure  from  wearisome  routine?"  de- 
manded Lilith,  with  a  smile. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  put  it  in  that  light,  I  am  sure. 
Black  tea,  or  green,  my  dear?" 

"Black,  please." 

The  merry  evening  meal  went  on,  and  when  it  was 
finished  the  ladies  adjourned  to  the  small  parlor, 
where  they  passed  the  evening  in  chatting  and  fancy 
work. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Jordon  rang  in  the  servants  for 
evening  prayers;  soon  after  which  the  family  prepared 
to  retire. 

On  reaching  the  upper  floor,  the  ladies  found  the 
three  negro  girls  huddled  together  in  Lilith's  room. 
This  was  their  first  appearance  since  the  morning,  for 
they  had  hidden  themselves  in  their  back  attic  bed- 


162  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

room,  and  not  until  "de  debil"  was  ascertained  to  be 
out  of  the  house  had  they  consented  to  come  out  of 
their  hysterics. 

"You  are  a  pretty  set  of  fools,  are  you  not,  now?" 
questioned  the  irate  lady  of  the  house,  as,  upon  stop- 
ping before  Lilith's  open  door  to  bid  her  guest  good- 
night, she  discovered  the  three  maids  there. 

"Oh,  mist'ess,"  said  Sally,  the  eldest,  "doan  blame 
us,  please,  ma'am.  It  was  de  debil  as  we  met  on  de 
sta'rs.  'Deed  an'  'deed  it  was." 

"Then  the  devil  spent  the  day  here  and  took  break- 
fast and  dinner  with  us.  And  looked  like  a  man,  too. 
How  do  you  account  for  that?"  demanded  their 
mistress. 

"Oh,  ma'am,  a  book-larn'  lady  like  you  knows  as  do 
inimy  ob  mankind  can  change  hisse'f  into  any  form  he 
please,  an'  eben  into  bishops,  priests  an'  deacons,  as  de 
prayer-book  says,  an'  so  'haps  he  change  hisse'f  into  a 
'spectable,  'sponsible,  portable  lookin'  ole  gem'an  w'en 
he  went  afo'  yer  face!"  whimpered  Sally. 

"There  you  see,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon,  ad- 
dressing the  younger  ladies — "you  see  what  tricks  im- 
agination will  play  with  people's  senses!  These  poor 
creatures  imagine  that  they  saw,  and  therefore  did 
see,  something  even  more  terrific  than  our  hideous, 
tattooed  giant!  Now,  then,  you  simpletons!  Go  about 
your  duties.  Good-night,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hereward.  I 
hope  you  will  rest  well,  after  this  mad  day,  and  spend 
the  remainder  of  your  time  with  us  free  from  dis- 
turbance." 

And  so  Mrs.  Jordon  and  her  daughters  kissed  their 
guest  and  retired  to  their  own  chambers,  attended  by 
Sally  and  Sukey. 

Lilith's  little  maid,  Sophy,  was  too  much  subdued  by 
her  fright  of  the  morning  to  be  very  talkative  that 
night.  She  waited  on  her  lady  in  silence  and  showed 
no  disposition  to  stay  longer  than  was  necessary. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  163 

As  soon  as  she  heard  her  companions  come  into  the 
hall,  she  courtesied  good-night  and  joined  them. 

Lilith  was  soon  after  in  bed  and  asleep. 

And  so  ended  her  first  day  at  Rushmore  Lodge. 

The  days  that  followed  were  quiet  enough. 

There  was  "nothing  going  on"  at  Frosthill,  as  Mr. 
Hilary  pathetically  complained — meaning,  of  course, 
that  there  was  no  public  show  of  any  sort. 

He  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  or  to  be  willing  to  for- 
get, that  he  had  ever  made  the  mistake  of  proposing 
marriage  to  her. 

On  Sunday  they  all  went  to  church.  This  was  the 
first  time  that  Lilith  attended  divine  service  since  her 
marriage,  and,  as  her  husband  could  not  be  by  her 
side  on  the  occasion,  she  was  very  glad  to  be  with 
Mrs.  Jordon  and  her  daughters. 

After  the  services  were  over,  friends  in  the  congre- 
gation came  forward  to  speak  to  Lilith. 

Both  the  rector  and  his  good  wife  declared  that 
Lilith  must  not  return  to  mope  alone  at  the  Cliffs,  but 
just  so  soon  as  her  visit  to  Rushmore  should  terminate 
she  must  come  to  the  rectory  for  a  few  weeks. 

But  Mrs.  Jordon  said  that  Lilith  must  stay  at  Rush- 
more  as  long  as  she  and  her  daughters  should  be 
there — that  was,  until  the  first  of  February.  After 
which  she  might  feel  herself  at  liberty  to  visit  her 
friends  at  the  rectory. 

Here  Dr.  Kerr  and  Mrs.  Kerr  came  up  and  shook 
hands  with  Lilith,  and  told  her  that  he  and  his  wife 

had  been  to  call  on  her  at  the  Cliffs,  but  had  missed 

7 

her,  of  course. 

In  the  crowd  that  filled  the  churchyard,  Lilith  saw 
a  group  of  her  own  servants  from  the  Cliffs.  Among 
them  was  Nancy,  whom  she  beckoned  to  her  side,  and 
from  whom  she  learned  that  all  was  going  on  well  at 
the  Cliffs,  except  Aleck,  who  was  "as  luny  as  ebber." 

Lilith  then  sent  kind  messages  by  Nancj   to   the 


164  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

household,  and  let  the  woman  go  back  to  rejoin  her 
friends. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Jordon  could  free  herself  and  party 
from  the  coil  of  acquaintances  that  surrounded  them, 
they  re-entered  their  large  carriage  and  drove  home  to 
Kushmore. 

There  they  found  Mr.  Jabez  Jordon,  a  little  old  man, 
with  gray  hair,  flushed  face,  sharp  features,  keen  blue 
eyes  and  a  "jerky"  voice  and  manner. 

He  had  come  to  spend  the  day  and  stay  overnight 
until  Monday  morning. 

"Not  that  I  like  to  come,"  he  frankly  said,  as  he 
grimly  saluted  his  wife  and  step-daughters;  "but  that 
if  I  stay  away  while  Mrs.  Jordon  is  making  such  a  long 
visit  here,  people  will  be  saying  that  we  have  parted, 
or  some  such  nonsense,  and  I  should  have  to  knock 
some  half  a  dozen  busy-bodies  on  the  head  for  it. 
How  do,  step-son?  How  go  the  shows?  The  snake 
charmer  and  sword  swallower,  and  the  like?  When 
you  have  'wasted  your  substance  in  riotous  living' 
among  rope  dancers  and  strolling  players,  you  will, 
perhaps,  turn  showman  yourself,  eh?  You  had  ex- 
perience enough,  eh?" 

"Father,"  said  Hilary,  to  divert  the  sour  old  man 
from  his  subject,  "here  is  Mrs.  Hereward.  You 
haven't  spoken  to  her  yet." 

"Ah!  ah!  I  see!  How  do,  my  dear?  I  heard  you 
were  here.  Well,  I  haven't  seen  you  for  a  month  of 
Sundays.  Nor  have  I  pined  for  your  presence.  Well, 
my  dear,  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  departure  of 
your  late  foster-father  for  the  kingdom  of  Heaven. 
The  kingdom  of  Heaven  is  a  much  happier  place  to 
live  in  than  this  world.  You  must  agree  to  that,  if 
you  are  a  Christian.  This  world,  my  dear,  is  a  most 
excellent  world  however — 'to  emigrate  from.'  And  1 
condole  with  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  on 
your  marriage,  my  poor  child.  Matrimony  may  be  a 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  165 

'holy'  state,  but  it  is  not  a  happy  one.  Quite  the  con- 
trary, as  you  will  be  sure  to  find." 

"Old  Jab  is  a  'rum  un,'  Mrs.  Here  ward.  You  must 
not  mind  him,"  said  Mr.  Hilary,  apologetically. 

Lilith  smiled  in  silence  as  she  turned  and  went  up-; 
stairs  with  the  two  girls  to  take  off  her  bonnet  and 
wraps. 

The  family  met  at  dinner,  where  Old  Jab,  the  worst 
of  pessimists,  would  have  made  everybody  very  uncom- 
fortable with  his  sarcasms  and  cynicisms,  had  he  not 
been  kept  in  order  by  Mrs.  Jab. 

The  young  people  were  heartily  glad  when,  on  Mon- 
day morning,  directly  after  breakfast,  he  took  his 
leave. 

As  soon  as  the  sound  of  Old  Jab's  horse's  hoofs  were 
lost  in  the  distance,  the  four  ladies  wrapped  them- 
selves up  warmly  and  went  out  on  the  lawn  before 
the  house,  to  take  a  "constitutional,"  indulging  in 
desultory  conversation  as  they  walked. 

"I  never  saw  any  one  so  improved  in  health  and 
spirits  in  so  short  a  time  as  you  have  been,  Lilith,  in 
the  few  days  you  have  stayed  with  us,"  said  Harriet, 
who  was  walking  arm  in  arm  with  her  guest. 

"Your  improvement  has  been  wonderful,  my  dear. 
Rushmore  agrees  with  you,  and  that  being  the  case, 
you  must  not  think  of  leaving  it  until  the  first  of 
February,  when  we  all  go,"  added  her  hostess,  who 
was  walking  behind  with  Emily. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Jordon,  you  are  very  kind,  and  I 
should  like  to  stay  so  much;  but  for  me  to  stay  a  fort- 
night, when  I  only  came  to  spend  a  week,  I  fear  would 
not  do,"  said  Lilith,  laughing. 

"  'Not  do?'  But  it  must  do!  It  shall  do!  It  will 
do!"  persisted  the  jolly  lady. 

Lilith's  further  objection  was  cut  short. 

A  sound  of  wheels  caught  their  attention. 

"It  is  the  carriage  from  the  Cliffs,  with  Stephen  on 


166  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  box!  What  can  that  mean?"  muttered  Lilith, 
with  a  vague  presentiment  of  evil,  as  she  dropped  the 
arm  of  Harriet  and  hurried  on  towards  the  house. 

She  reached  it  just  as  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
the  door  and  the  negro  coachman  got  down  from  the 
box. 

Her  three  friends  came  slowly  up  while  she  ques- 
tioned the  man. 

"What  is  it,  Stephen?  What  is  the  matter?  Have 
you  come  for  me?  Is  anything  wrong  at  the  Cliffs?'' 
she  hastily  inquired,  on  perceiving  the  man's  troubled 
looks. 

"De  marster  is  corned  home,  ma'am,  an'  ax  for  you 
de  firs'  fing.  He  'ribed  airly  dis  mornin'.  Took  us  all 
by  'sprise.  Scared  po'  Alick  so  dat  he,  po'  'flicted  cree- 
tur,  run  away  in  de  woods  'hind  de  house,  an'  ain't 
been  seed  since.  An'  de  marster's  ax  for  you,  and  we 
telled  him  you  was  here." 

"Mr.  Hereward  come  home!"  exclaimed  Lilith,  in  a 
joyous  tone.  "Then  I  must  return  immediately.  I  am 
so  glad  he  sent  the  carriage  for  me  at  once." 

"An'  po'  Alick's  'mancipated  de  place,"  added 
Stephen,  lugubriously. 

"Run  away?" 

"Yes,  mist'ess;  'mancipated  de  place,  as  I  telled  yer 
befo'." 

"Well,  he  must  be  looked  after  and  found.  But 
your  master,  Stephen — how  does  he  look?  Is  he  quite 
well?  Did  he  send  me  any  message  by  you?"  inquired 
Lilith. 

"Young  mist'ess,  he  sent  no  messidge  at  all.  He 
jus'  say  to  me,  he  say — 'Stephen,  put  de  bay  hosses  to 
de  close  carridge  an'  go  to  Rushmore  an'  bring  your 
mist'ess  home  immediate'." 

"Is  he — is  your  master  well?"  inquired  Lilith,  in 
some  uneasiness  at  not  having  received  either  note  or 
message  from  her  husband. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  167 

"I  doan  know,  young  mist'ess.  But  he  looks  jus'  as 
w'ite  as  a  sheet,  and  his  lips  pinch'  tight  togedder,  an' 
his  eyes  burnin'  like  two  coals!  'Deed,  I  doan  know 
wot's  de  matter  ob  him,  an'  no  mo'  do  Nancy!  'Pears 
like  he  hadn't  a  word  to  t'row  to  a  dog,  'cept  to  me 
w'en  he  say — 'Go  to  Rushmo'  an'  fetch  yer  mist'ess 
home  immediate'.'  'Deed  he  did,  young  mist'ess.  An' 
po'  Alick,  he  didn't  wait  for  de  marster  to  speak  to 
him,  but  soon's  ebber  he  cotch  his  eye  on  to  de  marster 
he  broke  an'  run  like  a  har'  fo'  de  houn's!" 

"Stephen,  let  the  horses  stand  for  ten  minutes,  and 
I  will  be  ready  to  go  back  with  you  at  the  end  of  that 
time,"  said  Lilith. 

Then  turning  to  Mrs.  Jordon,  she  explained: 

"You  see,  dear  friend,  I  must  go  home  at  once.  I 
am  wanted  there." 

"Yes,  love,  I  see.  I  am  very  sorry!  I  hope  there  is 
nothing  wrong  at  the  Cliffs.  I  hope  you  will  find  Mr. 
Hereward  quite  well,"  said  her  hostess. 

"I  hope  so.  I  believe  so.  I  am  not  usually  appre- 
hensive; but  to-day  there  seems  to  be  a  darkness  over 
my  spirit,  like  the  shadow  of  approaching  evil." 

Lilith  hurried  into  the  house  and  up  to  her  chamber, 
followed  by  her  hostess  and  the  two  girls. 

With  the  ready  help  of  the  two  last  mentioned,  she 
packed  her  valise  and  put  on  her  wraps. 

Then  she  said  good-bye  to  her  friends,  who  accom- 
panied her  to  the  carriage  door,  and  amid  their  kindest 
wishes  took  her  seat  and  drove  off. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"NOT  EASILY  JEALOUS" 

WE  must  return  to  Tudor  Hereward,  and  to  the 
moment  when  he  first  took  Alick's  fire-brand  in  his 
hand. 


168  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

Looking  at  the  post-mark,  "Frosthill,"  and  then  at 
the  strange,  scrawling  handwriting  of  the  superscrip- 
tion, he  muttered,  with  a  deep  sigh: 

"Some  constituent  of  my  own  immediate  neighbor- 
hood wants  some  Utopian  good  that  it  is  not  in  my 
power  to  give  him." 

Then  he  opened  the  letter  and  turned  to  the  signa- 
ture. 

"  'Alick  Turnbull.'  What  on  earth  can  our  butler 
have  to  write  to  me  about?"  he  questioned,  as  he 
turned  the  page  to  read  the  letter,  muttering  com- 
ments as  he  proceeded. 

"  'Wanted  home  immediate.'  .  .  .  'Young  youth 
been  staying  at  the  house  ever  since  you  have  been 
gone.'  .  .  .  'Nobody  to  keep  him  company  but 
the  young  mistress.'  .  .  .  'Please  come  home  im- 
mediate.' " 

"What  does  the  idiot  mean?"  questioned  Hereward. 
"A  'young  youth'  been  staying  at  the  Cliffs  ever 
since  I  left?  Well,  he  must  have  been  one  of  the  stu- 
dents at  the  Frosthill  Institute  out  shooting  part- 
ridges, and  being  caught  in  the  snow-storm  that  fol- 
lowed my  departure,  took  refuge  at  the  Cliffs,  where 
he  would  feel  at  home,  as  my  dear  father  had  such  a 
craze  for  entertaining  school-boys  that  he  always  had 
one  or  more  there  on  their  half-holidays. 

"  'Nobody  to  keep  him  company  but  the  young  mis- 
tress?' Of  course  not!  Who  else  should  keep  him 
company,  I'd  like  to  know?  for  visitors  can  no  more 
get  to  the  house  than  he  can  get  away,  and  he  is 
thrown  upon  his  hostess  for  society  as  well  as  for 
shelter.  Poor  Lilith!  I  hope  he  makes  himself  agree- 
able. School-boys  are  not  the  most  delightful  guests 
in  the  world,  particularly  in  stormy  weather." 

And  he  was  about  to  drop  the  letter  into  the  waste- 
paper  basket,  and  its  subject  into  oblivion,  when  some 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  169 

secondary  impulse  caused  him  to  stay  his  hand,  and 
raise  it  for  another  reading. 

Then  he  perceived  a  something  which  in  his  first 
perusal  had  eluded  his  observation — a  certain  subtle 
innuendo  of  impropriety — a  suggestion  of  danger — 
underlying  and  running  through  all  the  simple  facts 
stated. 

"What  does  the  fellow  mean?"  he  asked  himself  for 
the  third  time,  more  gravely  and  anxiously  than  ever 
before.  "How  dared  he  write  me  in  this  manner  about 
his  mistress?  I  will  teach  him  a  lesson." 

With  these  words  Tudor  Hereward  held  the  letter 
once  more  over  the  waste-paper  basket  with  the  inten- 
tion of  dropping  it  in,  but  speedily  changed  his  mind 
and  threw  it  into  the  grate,  where  it  instantly  caught 
fire  and  burned  to  ashes.  That  letter  was  not  to  be 
left  to  the  chance  perusal  of  other  eyes  than  his  own. 

Then  he  sat  some  time  in  troubled  thought. 

"Lilith  is  a  child,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "A  mere 
child  in  years  and  in  ignorance  of  the  world.  I  ought 
not  to  have  left  her  alone;  though  I  thought  I  was 
leaving  her  in  perfect  safety  in  the  home  of  her  child- 
hood, attended  by  our  old  family  servants;  but,  then, 
I  did  not  take  into  account  the  possibility  of  a  snow- 
bound student.  And  Lilith,  in  the  very  innocence  of 
ignorance,  may  have  committed  some  harmless  indis- 
cretion, and  drawn  upon  herself  the  animadversions 
of  these  presuming  old  family  servants.  And  for  the 
height  of  presumption  and  insolence  commend  me  to 
your  faithful  old  family  servants." 

Tudor  Hereward  sank  into  profound  thought  that 
lasted  until  the  sudden  outringing  of  all  the  church 
bells  aroused  him. 

Then  he  hastily  made  his  toilet,  and  set  out  to  at- 
tend divine  worship. 

Before  he  returned  to  his  hotel  that  day  he  had 
made  up  his  mind. 


170  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Congress  had  adjourned  until  Wednesday.  He 
would  have  time  to  run  down  to  the  Cliffs  to  see  his 
wife,  and  he  determined  to  do  so. 

At  five  minutes  past  twelve  he  was  being  whirled 
westward,  on  his  way  to  Frosthill. 

He  could  not  sleep  on  this  ride  as  he  had  done  on 
the  last  one.  The  thought  of  Alick's  letter  troubled 
him.  And  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  it 
troubled  him. 

The  express  train  stopped  at  but  few  stations,  but 
at  these  some  passengers  got  out  and  others  got  in. 

So  the  night  wore  towards  morning. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  gray  of  the  winter  morning 
the  train  stopped  at  Eyrie  Junction,  about  fifteen 
miles  from  Frosthill.  Here  many  passengers  left  the 
train,  leaving  the  car  in  which  Mr.  Hereward  rode 
empty  but  for  him. 

Two  ladies  got  on,  however,  and  took  the  seat  imme- 
diately in  front  of  Tudor  Hereward,  although  there 
were  plenty  of  others;  but,  then,  this  was  nearest  the 
stove,  and  they  had  come  in  out  of  the  wintry  air. 

Evidently,  though  they  were  acquaintances,  they 
had  not  come  to  the  station  together,  but  had  met  on 
the  platform,  and  as  they  settled  themselves  in  their 
places  they  were  continuing  a  conversation  com- 
menced outside. 

They  seemed  strangers  to  Mr.  Hereward,  and  prob- 
ably soon  forgot  his  presence,  as  he  sat  out  of  their 
eight  behind  them;  and  from  the  freedom  with  which 
they  talked  they  seemed  to  think  themselves  alone. 

Tudor  Hereward  paid  no  sort  of  attention  to  their 
talk,  although  it  was  carried  on  in  a  rather  loud  key, 
until  a  name  caught  his  ear. 

"No,  honey,"  said  the  elder  and  stouter  of  the  two 
women,  "I  haven't  heard  a  word  of  all  this  story  about 
young  Mrs.  Hereward!  I  only  heard  about  her  sudden 
marriage  to  the  son  at  the  death-bed  of  the  father,  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  171 

of  him — the  bridegroom  I  mean — going  back  to  Wash- 
ington the  day  after  the  funeral,  and  leaving  her  all 
alone  with  the  colored  servants  at  the  Cliffs,  which 
certainly  looked  queer  enough!  But  I  never  heard 
anything  worse  than  that!  You  see,  honey,  I  left  the 
neighborhood  just  before  the  great  storm  came  on, 
and  I  have  been  weather-bound  at  Eyrie,  where  I  have 
been  staying  with  my  daughter;  and  so,  of  course,  I 
couldn't  hear.  But  what  is  it,  anyhow?" 

"Well,  it  is  this,"  said  the  younger  and  thinner 
woman.  "You  know  as  he — young  Mr.  Hereward — 
went  away  on  the  evening  of  the  great  storm,  and  just 
before  the  storm  came  on." 

"I  should  think  I  did,  now,  Marthy!  I  was  on  the 
same  train  with  him  as  far  as  Eyrie  Junction,  wrhere 
my  daughter  met  me  in  her  wagon." 

"Yes,  well,  Mrs.  Martin,  it  seems  that  the  very  next 
day  after  he  left,  a  young  man,  a  Mr.  Ancillon,  that 
belonged  to  the  company  of  strolling  players  that  were 
here  in  the  Christmas  holidays,  goes  straight  to  the 
Cliffs,  and  there  he  has  been  ever  since!  Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

"He  went  to  the  Cliffs  the  day  after  the  master 
left?" 

"Yes;  the  very  day  after!  Now,  what  do  you  think 
of  that?" 

"Why,  that  was  in  the  height  of  the  great  storm.  I 
suppose  he  got  caught  out  in  it,  and  went  in  there  for 
shelter,  and  got  weather-bound,  like  a  great  mnny 
other  people  in  other  places.  That  is  what  I  think 
about  it." 

"Well,  you  are  very  charitable;  but  you  must  agree 
writh  me  that  it  is  very,  very  queer  for  a  strange  young 
man — a  strolling  play-actor,  too — to  go  to  a  gentle- 
man's house  the  very  day  after  he  has  left  it,  and  to 
stay  there  alone  with  the  young  wife  for  more  than  a 
week.  Very  queer,  indeed." 


172  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"I  don't  see  it,  if  he  went  there  a  traveler  seeking 
shelter  from  the  storm  and  getting  weather-bound," 
said  Mrs.  Martin. 

"But  alone  with  the  young  wife.    How  about  that?" 

"He  was  not  alone  with  her,  Marthy.  She  had  her 
old  servants  with  her. 

"A  passel  of  niggers.  What  were  they?  They  didn't 
sit  in  the  parlor  'long  of  him  and  her,  I  reckon.  They 
couldn't  see  and  hear  all  that  passed  between  them 
two.  And  I  tell  you  what  they  did  notice  they  didn't 
approve  of.  At  least  one  good,  faithful  servant  didn't. 
And  that  was  their  man  Alick,"  said  the  younger 
woman,  mysteriously  nodding  her  head. 

"Now,  Marthy  Spanker,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that 
Alick  has  been  talking  permiscuous  about  his  mas- 
ter's family?  You  don't  say  that?" 

"No;  but  I  tell  you  what  I  do  say — that  that  poor 
faithful  nigger  was  so  horrified  by  what  he  noticed  of 
the  goings  on  at  the  Cliffs  between  his  young  mistress 
and  her  improper  visitor,  that  he  took  it  upon  himself 
to  go  to  the  post-office  and  get  my  nephew,  Thomas 
Tims,  to  write  a  letter  for  him  to  his  master,  begging 
him  to  come  home  instantly — instantly — before  worse 
followed,"  said  Miss  Spanker,  nodding  her  head  more 
wisely  and  meaningly  than  before. 

"Did  Tom  Tims  tell  you  all  this?" 

"Yes,  he  did.  And  not  only  me,  but  other  people 
besides." 

"So  Tom  Tims  is  your  only  authority  for  all  this 
gossip.  What  a  molehill  to  make  a  mountain  of! 
But  the  post-master's  boy  did  not  keep  the  contents 
of  the  letter  he  wrote  for  the  negro  to  himself,  as  he 
ought  to  have  done — " 

"I  don't  see  why  he  should.    It  was  no  secret." 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  Marthy  Spanker.  I  say  Tom 
Tims  went  blabbing  about  that  letter  all  over  the 
neighborhood,  even  by  your  own  showing.  Yes,  and, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  173 

no  doubt,  distorting  and  exaggerating  everything  in 
it.    Yes,  and  evil-minded  people  put  this  and  that  to- 
gether, which  had  nothing  to  do  with  each  other,  and 
made  harm  of  it  in  a  way  they  have." 
"I  don't  understand  you,  Mrs.  Martin."  • 
"Oh,  yes,  you  do." 

"But  I  don't.  What  do  you  mean  by  'putting  this 
and  that  together  and  making  harm'?" 

"I  mean  they  connect  the  negro's  asking  his  master 
to  come  home  with  his  mentioning  the  visit  of  the 
weather-bound  traveler,  and  making  evil  of  it  when 
there  was  no  evil,  and  no  connection  between  the  two 
items.  If  the  post-master's  boy  said  there  was,  I  be- 
lieve he  lied,  and  every  one  who  has  repeated  the  story 
after  him  has  lied,  and  very  likely  lied  even  more  than 
he  did.  You  should  not  believe  all  the  scandal  you 
hear,  Marthy  Spanker.  Much  less  should  you  repeat 
it." 

"I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  that,  Mrs.  Martin,  for 
I  did  hear — indeed,  I  did — that  the  young  strolling 
player  who  is  keeping  company  with  Mrs.  Hereward 
at  the  Cliffs  while  her  husband  is  away,  is  one  of  the 
handsomest  and  most  fascinating  men  that  ever  was 
seen,  even  if  he  is  no  better  than  a  tramp  and  a 
vagrant." 

"What  in  this  world  has  the  man's  looks  got  to  do 
with  it?" 

"Oh,  ho!  I  should  think  they  had  everything  to  do 
with  it!  They  do  say,  indeed  they  do!  that  her  and 
him  were  acquainted  before  she  was  married  to  Mr. 
Tudor  Hereward;  and  that  they  met  at  some  of  them 
outlandish  places  where  old  Mr.  Hereward  used  to 
take  her  in  the  summer,  and  him  and  her — I  mean  the 
play-actor  and  Miss  Wyvil,  as  she  was  then — got  cap- 
tivated with  each  other  there." 

"Oh,  what  wicked  lies!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Martin. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Lies  or  no,  I  can't  tell!  But  they  do  say,  indeed 
they  do,  that  that  was  the  reason  why  he  brought  his 
company  down  here,  just  to  see  her.  For  you  know  the 
company  is  his.  The  great  Plantagenet  and  Montmor- 
encie  Combination  is  all  humbug.  He  is  the  Plantage- 
net and  Montmorencie,  too,  as  well  as  Ancillon!  And 
he  brought  the  whole  company  down  here  just  for  the 
sake  of  seeing  her.  Not  that  he  expected  to  make 
much  money  out'n  our  little  village." 

"But  he  did  make  money,  though!  He  had  crowds 
every  day  and  night." 

"Well,  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  It  happened, 
you  know,  that  young  Mrs.  Hereward  didn't  go  to  see 
any  of  the  performances.  She  couldn't,  you  know. 
The  old  man  had  just  died,  and  was  buried  that  same 
week.  So  she  couldn't  get  out,  and  he  didn't  see  her. 
But  they  do  say — indeed,  Mrs.  Martin,  they  do — that 
he  was  so  disappointed  that,  when  Saturday  night 
came,  he  sent  his  whole  company  on  alone  to  Staunton, 
and  he  stayed  behind  on  purpose  to  see  her.  And 
that  when  he  heard  Mr.  Hereward  had  gone  off  to 
Washington  and  left  her  alone  at  the  Cliffs,  he  went 
there  to  see  her.  And  there  he  has  been  ever  since. 
And  the  honest,  faithful  servants  were  all  mortified 
and  distressed  almost  to  death,  till  one  of  them  took 
courage  to  write  to  his  master  and  beg  him  to  come 
home  before  something  awful  should  happen — a  run- 
away match  or  something!  Now,  what  have  you  to 
say  to  that,  Mrs.  Martin?"  triumphantly  demanded 
Miss  Spanker. 

"Honey,  them's  lies." 

"But  they  say  it  is  the  truth!" 

"Who  are  'they'?" 

"Everybody." 

"Everybody  means  nobody!  All  lies,  Marthy 
Spanker,  from  first  to  last!  And  I  advise  you  not  to 
be  a-repeating  of  them;  I  do  so,  for  your  own  good.'' 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  175 

"I  don't  vouch  for  nothing!  Him  and  her  may  be 
saints  and  angels,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary.  I 
only  tell  what  I  hear — but  I  have  my  own  thoughts," 
said  Miss  Spanker. 

"All  a  passel  of  lies!  Old  Man  Tudor  Hereward  was 
too  choice  of  his  adopted  daughter  to  'low  her  to  pick 
up  improper  acquaintances,  away  from  home.  And 
the  young  lady  herself  was  too  modest  and  dainty 
to  have  done  so,  whether  or  no !  So  she  couldn't  have 
had  any  knowledge  of  this  stranger  that  went  to  her 
house  for  shelter  from  the  storm." 

"Now  I  don't  know  about  that,  Mrs.  Martin." 

"Don't  know  about  what?" 

"About  what  she  knew  and  what  she  didn't.  And 
no  more  do  you,  if  it  comes  to  that!  No  one,  as  far  as 
I  can  hear,  does  know  much  about  young  Mrs.  Here- 
ward!  All  we  do  know  is,  that  she  was  a  foundling 
child,  or  something  of  that  sort,  as  was  adopted  and 
brought  up  by  old  Major  Hereward — as  she  could  turn 
round  and  round  her  fingers  as  she  liked!  because  he 
just  doted  on  her!  You  don't  know  anything  about 
her  parents,  nor  what  low  vices  she  has  taken  from 
them,  so  why  need  you  be  surprised  at  anything  she 
does  or  you  hear?" 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  anything  young  Mrs.  Here- 
ward does;  because  all  she  does  is  good  and  true  like 
herself.  But  I  am  surprised,  and,  moreover,  I  am 
shocked  at  what  I  hear  you  say  of  that  lady!  And  I 
warn  you  to  be  careful,  or  you  will  get  yourself  and 
your  father  into  serious  trouble!" 

"No  I  won't,  for  I  only  repeat  what  I  hear!  And  I 
have  heard  worse  than  I  have  told  you  yet!  I  have 
heard,  indeed  I  have — " 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  lies,  Marthy 
Spanker!  And,  moreover,  I  won't!  Thank  the  Lord, 
here  we  are  almost  at  Frosthill !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin, beginning  to  gather  up  her  baskets  and  bags,  as 


176  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  train  "slowed"  towards  the  lighted  station;  for 
though  the  eastern  horizon  was  red  with  the  coming 
day,  the  lamps  would  not  be  extinguished  until  the 
sun  should  rise. 

Tudor  Hereward,  who  had  felt  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty in  restraining  himself  during  the  exasperating 
discussion  between  his  twTo  fellow-passengers,  now 
bent  forward  and  addressed  Miss  Spanker: 

"Madam,  I  beg  pardon.  I  have  not  the  advantage  of 
knowing  your  name.  Mine  is  Tudor  Hereward.  I  have 
been  an  involuntary  hearer  of  your  discussion,  and  I 
have  the  privilege  to  inform  you  that — with  the  sole 
exception  of  the  fact  of  my  marriage — there  is  not  one 
syllable  of  truth  in  all  that  you  have  uttered.  I  can- 
not, of  course,  call  a  woman  to  account  for  her 
slanders,  however  base  and  false  they  may  have  been; 
but  I  shall  be  glad  to  know,  and  shall  take  speedy 
measures  to  learn  the  name  and  address  of  father, 
brother,  or  husband,  or  any  other  man  who  may  be 
held  responsible  for  the  slanders  you  have  uttered  in 
my  hearing,"  concluded  Mr.  Hereward,  as  he  resumed 
his  seat. 

The  effect  of  this  speech  was  rather  stunning,  not 
to  say  annihilating. 

After  the  first  start  with  which  the  two  women  had 
received  the  announcement  of  Mr.  Hereward's  name 
by  his  own  voice,  and  had  realized  that  he  had  over- 
heard every  word  of  their  compromising  conversation, 
they  remained  panic-stricken  until  he  had  ceased  to 
speak  and  had  sunk  back  in  his  seat. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 

"I  warned  you  that  you  would  get  into  trouble,"  she 
said,  as  she  arose  in  her  place,  well  laden  with  bag, 
l>asket,  bandbox  and  bundle. 

"I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  don't  know 
nothing  about  it!  I  only  say  what  I  hear!  Nobody 
can't  do  nothing  to  me  for  saying  that!"  exclaimed 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  177 

Miss  Spanker,  in  a  frightened,  yet  defiant  tone,  as  she 
grabbed  her  valise  and  made  for  the  door  of  the  car. 

The  train  had  stopped  and  three  passengers  for 
Frosthill  got  off  there. 

Miss  Spanker  was  met  b}'  a  rough-looking,  middle- 
aged  man,  whom  she  called  "father,"  and  with  whom 
she  hurried  away  as  fast  as  she  could  walk  and  make 
him  walk. 

The  train  steamed  on  its  way  westward,  leaving  Mr. 
Hereward  and  Mrs.  Martin  standing  on  the  platform. 


CHAPTER  XX 

"PERPLEXED  IN  THE  EXTREME" 

THERE  was  not  a  carriage  of  any  sort  at  the  station. 
There  seldom  was  at  that  hour.  And  the  Cloud- 
Capped  Cliffs  was  six  miles  off,  on  a  very  rough  road. 

Mr.  Hereward  called  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  loun- 
ging about  waiting  for  a  job,  and  gave  him  a  dollar  to 
go  to  the  Frosthill  Hotel  and  fetch  him  a  carriage. 

When  the  man  was  about  to  start  on  his  errand,. 
Tudor  turned  to  his  fellow-passenger  and  inquired: 

"Can  he  take  a  message  for  you  anywhere?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hereward.  I  expect 
Job  here  with  the  buggy  to  meet  me." 

Tudor  lifted  his  hat  and  stepped  back. 

"Why,  Mr.  Hereward,  you  don't  seem  to  know  me!" 
she  said,  in  a  tone  that  brought  him  again  to  her  side. 

"I — am  afraid  that  I  have  not  that  honor." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have — if  it  is  an  honor!"  laughed  the 
matron.  "You  know  Mrs.  Martin,  who  keeps  the  mil- 
linery and  mantua-making  department  at  Martin's 
Bazaar  at  Frosthill?" 

"Oh!  why,  of  course  I  do!  I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
Mrs.  Martin,"  said  Tudor  Hereward. 


178  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"But  you  know  my  husband,  poor  old  Job,  better 
than  me!  Why,  he  was  one  of  the  most  active  men  in 
the  campaign  that  elected  you!  He  was  chairman  of 
the  Frosthill  Central  Committee,  you  know!" 

"Of  course  I  know  how  zealous  and  active  Mr.  Mar- 
tin was,  and  how  greatly  our  party  is  indebted  to  him, 
personally,"  replied  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Ah!  what  a  campaign  that  was,  Mr.  Hereward!  I 
am  sure  poor  old  Job  bellowed  himself  into  an  incur- 
able bronchitis,  hurrahing  for  Hereward  and  the 
whole  ticket.  What  we  did  was  done  for  love  of  old 
neighborhood,  Mr.  Hereward!" 

"I  do  believe  it.  And  I  thank  you  most  deeply," 
replied  the  young  statesman;  and  on  this  occasion  he 
spoke  sincerely. 

It  was  so  refreshing  to  meet  with  an  ardent  partisan 
who  was  not  an  officer-seeker. 

"And  now  I  want  to  beg  you,  Mr.  Hereward,  not  to 
mind,  not  to  pay  any  more  attention  to  what  that 
poor  fool,  Marthy  Spanker,  said  in  the  cars  this  morn- 
ing. Her  tongue  is  no  scandal.  Everybody  knows 
that.  You  will  not  mind  it,  will  you?" 

"We  will  not  discuss  this  subject,  if  you  please,  Mrs. 
Martin,"  replied  Tudor  Hereward,  as  his  face  grew 
dark  again  with  passion. 

"No,  of  course  not,"  assented  Mrs.  Martin;  "but  I 
want  you  please  to  understand  that  I,  at  least,  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  but  to  defend  Mrs. 
Hereward.  You  know  that  I  did  defend  her,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  do  know  it,  and  I  thank  you  for  the  kindest 
intentions;  but  at  the  same  time  I  must  assure  you 
that  Mrs.  Hereward  did  not  in  the  least  require  de- 
fence. But  we  will  not  continue  the  subject,  if  you 
please." 

"Certainly  not.  And  I  warned  Marthy  Spanker  that 
she  was  letting  her  tongue  run  before  her  wit,  and  that 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  179 

it  would  cut  off  her  head  some  of  these  days — least- 
ways that  she  would  get  herself  and  her  father  into 
trouble  if  she  wasn't  careful.  She  has  got  a  father,, 
Mr.  Hereward — Old  Nick  Spanker.  And  if  you  must 
pitch  into  anybody,  pitch  into  him!  He  stumped  for 
the  other  ticket,  and  called  you  a  bloated  aristocrat, 
and  my  poor,  innocent  old  Job,  who  never  handled 
a  gun  in  his  life,  and  never  rebelled  even  against  me 
or  the  children,  an  ex-rebel  guerrilla!  Yes,  he  did! 
He  abused  you;  and  his  daughter  slanders  your  wife." 

"Mrs.  Martin,  this  subject  must  drop  here  and  now! 
I  credit  you  and  I  thank  you  for  the  best  intentions 
towards  me  and  mine.  But  here  and  now  this  subject 
must  be  dropped  and  dropped  forever!"  said  Tudor 
Hereward,  sternly,  though  politely. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Hereward,  it  is  unprofitable!  And 
here  comes  Old  Job — Old  Job — with  his  old  horse  and 
buggy.  Now,  does  he  look  like  an  ex-guerrilla?  Well, 
good-bye,  Mr.  Hereward.  We'll  make  you  a  senator 
next  time!"  said  the  jolly  dame,  as  she  hurried  off  to 
meet  her  husband,  who  pulled  up  his  horse  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  help  her. 

She  threw  bag,  basket,  bandbox  and  bundle  into  the 
bottom  of  the  buggy,  then  stepped  up  into  the  seat 
beside  him,  took  the  reins  from  his  hands,  and  drove 
off. 

A  moment  later  the  carriage  from  the  Frosthill 
Hotel  drew  up,  and  Mr.  Hereward  entered  it  and  gave 
the  order  to  drive  to  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs. 

As  the  carriage  started,  the  wintry  sun  rose. 

Tudor  Hereward  had  only  by  the  very  strongest 
effort  maintained  his  self-control  while  in  the  presence 
of  others.  But  his  soul  was  filled  with  rage  and 
shame.  Never  before  in  ifce  whole  course  of  his 
domestic  history  had  any  woman  of  his  family  been 
touched  by  the  faintest  breath  of  slander. 

Probably,  if  any  man  had  so  slandered  his  wife. 


180  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Tudor  Hereward  would  have  broken  the  law  that  he 
was  bound  to  defend,  and  have  slain  the  slanderer  on 
the  spot  and  incurred  the  dishonor  of  a  public  trial, 
if  no  worse. 

But  what  can  a  gentleman  do  with  a  poor,  ignorant, 
gossiping  woman,  however  malicious  and  venomous 
her  tongue  may  be?  If  the  slanderer  had  been  a  man, 
Tudor  Hereward  could  have  punished  his  offence 
fatally  in  his  person,  or,  if  a  rich  woman,  heavily  in 
her  purse,  and  given  the  amount  of  damages  in 
charity. 

And  then  his  thoughts  turned  upon  Alick,  the  med- 
dler, the  mischief-maker,  the  incendiary,  who  had 
dared  to  get  that  letter  written  about  his  young  mis- 
tress which  had  started  all  this  fire  of  slander,  this 
burning  and  consuming  shame! 

And  he  mentally  promised  that  faithful  old  family 
servant  and  emancipated  freedman  such  a  horsewhip- 
ping as  he  never  had  dreamed  of  in  the  old  slave 
days. 

And  then  he  thought  of  Lilith. 

What  had  the  simple  child  been  doing  to  draw  upon 
herself  the  blame  of  these  brutes? 

A  strolling  player  had  taken  shelter  from  the  sform 
at  the  Cliffs  and  had  then  become  weather-bound  there 
for  days. 

Not  a  desirable  inmate,  but  an  inevitable  one  under 
the  circumstances.  He  was  reported  to  be  young  and 
good-looking.  He  was  also,  probably,  witty  and  enter- 
taining, as  almost  all  Bohemians  are.  He  made  him- 
self as  agreeable  as  possible  to  his  hostess.  Perhaps 
read  to  her.  Most  likely  recited  for  her  soliloquies 
from  Hamlet,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  so  on. 

"I  can  well  imagine  such  scenes  would  be  described 
by  the  ignorant  negroes  as  'carryings  on.'  Perhaps 
they  played  snowball  together!"  he  reflected. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  181 

And  finally  his  thoughts  came  and  sat  in  judgment 
on  HIMSELF. 

"I  am  the  first  offender  and  the  most  of  all  to  blame! 
I  should  not  have  left  her.  She  did  not  wish  to  stay 
behind,  poor  little  girl!  She  wanted  to  come  with  me, 
and  I  ought  to  have  taken  her!  It  would  not  have 
been  more  lonely  for  her,  even  in  my  den  in  Washing- 
ton than  it  is  in  the  old  manor-house.  However,  I 
will  remedy  the  evil  as  far  as  I  may!  I  will  take  her 
with  me  when  I  return  to  Washington." 

So  absorbed  was  Tudor  Hereward  in  these  thoughts, 
that  the  distance  between  Frosthill  and  the  Cliffs  was 
passed  over,  and  the  carriage  was  rolling  up  the 
avenue  towards  the  house,  before  he  was  well  aware  of 
the  fact. 

The  front  of  the  mansion  was  still  closed;  but  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  before  the  door,  he  saw  the  very  man 
whom  he  wished  first  to  see.  He  was  wandering  about 
the  grounds  with  a  load  of  brush  in  his  arms,  in  a 
distracted  sort  of  a  way,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  where 
to  take  it. 

Mr.  Hereward  let  down  the  window  and  called  out: 

"Alick!  Alick!  Come  here!  I  want  to  speak  to 
you!" 

The  effect  of  this  summons  was  startling  on  the  man 
summoned. 

He  stopped  at  the  sound  of  the  voice,  looked  around 
in  a  dazed  and  frightened  manner,  caught  sight  of  his 
master's  pale  and  angry  face,  dropped  his  load  of 
brush,  and  with  a  howl  of  despair,  fled  for  the  covert 
of  the  woods  behind  the  house. 

"The  guilty  wretch  is  conscience-stricken  and  ex- 
pects retribution,"  said  Mr.  Hereward  to  himself,  as 
he  took  up  his  valise,  opened  the  carriage  door  and 
alighted. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  to  pay  the  driver,  and  then 
he  went  up  to  the  front  entrance  of  the  house. 


182  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

But  before  he  could  knock,  the  door  was  opened  by 
Steve,  who  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  carriage 
wheels,  and  who  at  the  sight  of  his  master  fairly 
laughed  for  joy. 

"Oh,  oh,  Marse  Tudor!  Is  it  you,  sah?  Wot  a 
Rightful  s'prise!  But  I's  moughty  proud  to  see  you, 
fin'  will  us  all  be!"  he  cried,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear 
as  he  opened  wide  the  door.  "But,  my  Lor'  A'mighty, 
Marse  Tudor!  Wot  is  de  matter  wid  yer,  sah?  Is  yer 
corned  home  ill?  Lor'-a-massy,  yer's  as  white  as  a 
sheet!"  exclaimed  the  negro,  in  dismay,  as  the  strong 
lights  revealed  the  pale,  stern  face  of  the  returned 
master. 

"Nothing!  Nothing  but  want  of  rest,"  hastily  re- 
plied Mr.  Hereward — "rest  of  body,  mind  and  spirit," 
he  mentally  added. 

"Den  yer  must  hab  it,  sah!  Dat's  sure!  Mus'  stay 
'long  ob  us,  an'  lib  on  game,  an'  keep  airly  hours  till 
yer  get  well  and  strong  ag'in.  We'll  set  yer  up,  sah!" 

"Thank  you,  my  good  fellow!    How  are  all  here?" 

"All  is  moughty  well,  t'ank  de  Lord,  sah!  An'  all 
will  be  proud  to  see  you!"  replied  Steve,  as  he  opened 
the  parlor  door  and  stood  aside  with  a  sweeping  bow 
to  let  his  master  enter  the  room. 

"I  do  not  think  Alick  looked  very  well,  or  was  very 
glad  to  see  me.  He  took  to  his  heels  at  the  sight  of 
me,"  said  Mr.  Hereward,  as  he  stood  beside  the  newly 
kindled  fire  in  the  open  chimney  of  the  little  parlor. 
I  "Oh,  po' Alick!  Doan  yer  min'  him,  marster,  please ! 
Po'  Alick  is  'flicted!" 

"  'Flicted?"  questioned  the  master,  in  perplexity. 
"  'Flicted?" 

"  'Flicted  inter  his  lunacies.  Yes,  sah.  'Deed  he  is. 
Po'  Alick." 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  man  has  gone  crazy?  He 
looked  so." 

"Yes,  young  marster,  dat's  jest  whey  it  is.    C'azy. 


THE   UNLOVED    WIFE  183 

Po'  Alick  done  los'  his  head.  Po'  Alick  ain't  had  no 
head  for — for — a  week  or  mo',  I  reckon.  'Deed  it's 
de  trufe." 

"How  is  your  mistress?  Is  she  up?"  inquired  Mr. 
Hereward,  suddenly  changing  the  subject. 

"De  young  madam  ain't  home,  Marse  Tudor." 

"Not  home!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hereward,  while  a 
fierce  doubt,  which  he  was  ashamed  to  feel,  pierced 
his  heart. 

"Well,  no,  sah;  not  home,  I's  sorry  to  say,  'long  as 
yer've  come  back." 

"WHERE  is  SHE,  THEN?" 

"Lor'-a-mighty,  Marse  Tudor!  She  ain't  in  de  grabe- 
yard,  sah.  She's  all  right,  de  young  madam  is,"  re- 
plied the  negro,  startled  and  frightened  at  the  look 
and  tone  with  which  the  young  man  asked  this  ques- 
tion. 

"I  asked  you  WHERE?" 

"She's  ober  to  Rushmo',  'long  ob  Mist'ess  Jab  Jor- 
don  an'  de  Miss  Mileses.  She  been  dere  a  week  to-day. 
De  ladies  come  o'  las'  Monday  mornin'  an'  spent  de 
day  'long  ob  her,  an'  seein'  how  lonesome  an'  low  de 
young  madam  was,  dey  'suaded  ob  her  to  go  home 
'long  o'  dem  fo'  a  week,  an'  we  dem  colored  people 
was  powerful  glad  to  hab  de  madam  go  'way  an'  'joy 
herse'f  wid  de  oder  young  ladies,  'cause  she  hab  been 
awful  lonesome  yere  by  her  lone  se'f ." 

During  this  explanation  Tudor  Hereward  had  time 
to  recover  himself,  and  at  its  close  he  put  a  leading 
question: 

"What!  Has  your  mistress  been  so  very  lonesome? 
Has  no  one  come  to  see  her?" 

"Hi,  Marse  Tudor!  How  anybody  gwine  to  get  to 
de  house  t'rough  all  dat  big  snowstorm  and  de  blocked 
up  yoads?  Nobody  could  come,  nor  likewise  go,  fo' 
mo'  dan  a  week.  Soon's  ebber  dey  could  come  Mist'ess 
Jab  Jordon  an'  de  young  ladies  come  firs',  w'ich  I  tor 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

yer,  an'  toted  off  de  young  madam.  An'  den  de  neigh- 
bors come  fas'  enough,  but  de  young  madam  she 
wa'n't  yere  to  'ceive  'em." 

"Oh!  who  were  they?" 

"Dere  was  Dr.  Kerr  an'  his  famberly,  an'  Parson 
Cave  an'  his  famberly,  an'  dere  was — " 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  the  master. 

"Well/ sah,  mos'  all  de  neighbors  come  'fo'  de  week 
was  out,  but  ob  course  dey  didn't  see  de  young  madam, 
w'ich  was  at  Rushmo',"  concluded  Steve,  not  to  be 
cut  short  in  his  narrative. 

"And  no  one  came  during  the  bad  weather?" 

"No,  sah,  no  one;  dat  is,  no  neighbors,  sah.  No  one 
ob  no  'count.  No  one  worf  mentionin'.  Dere  was  a 
young  man  come  de  ebenin'  arter  yer  lef,  sah!  But  he 
doan  count  for  nuffin'  caze  he  war  a  stranger  an'  a 
trabeler,  druv  in  by  de  storm,  w'ich  neider  man  nor 
beast  could  'a'  libbed  if  dey  stayed  out  in  it,  yer  know, 
sah!  So  no  fanks  to  him  fo'  comin'!  'Twa'nt  fo'  any 
lub  ob  us  he  come,  but  'caze  he  was  'pelled  by  the 
storm." 

"Who  was  he?    What  was  his  name?" 

"Well,  marster,  'pears  he  was  one  ob  dem  player- 
acterin'  people  wot  were  yere  at  de  C'ris'mas  holidays, 
an'  his  name  were  Answer-long,  w'ich  were  a  funny 
name!" 

Time  and  reflection  had  calmed  all  his  disquietude, 
and  he  stood  waiting  for  his  young  wife's  return  with- 
out a  sign  of  that  mental  and  bodily  weariness  and 
illness  which,  on  his  first  arrival,  had  alarmed  his  serv- 
ants. He  was  no  longer  "white  as  a  sheet,"  as  they 
had  described  him. 

He  was  not  sure  whether  he  should  even  ask  Lilith 
about  her  visitor.  He  would  wait  to  see  whether  she 
herself  should  mention  him. 

It  was  high  noon  when  at  length  the  carriage,  bring- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  185 

ing  Lilith  home,  turned  into  the  avenue  leading  up  to 
the  house. 

Tudor  Hereward  stepped  down  from  the  porch  to 
receive  her. 

As  soon  as  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  house, 
it  was  Lilith's  own  eager  hand  that  opened  the  door 
before  any  one  could  do  it  for  her,  and  she  sprang  out, 
her  lovely  young  face  beaming  with  such  delight  that, 
whatever  else  Hereward  might  doubt,  he  could  not 
doubt  her  intense  pleasure  at  seeing  him  again. 

Yet  his  reception  of  her  was  rather  playful  than 
affectionate. 

"Well,  my  little  lady-love,"  he  said,  as  he  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  "have  I  taken  you  very 
much  by  surprise?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Tudor!  But  it  is  such  a  happy  surprise. 
How  I  wish  I  had  been  home  when  you  arrived!  I  am 
so  glad  you  sent  for  me  at  once!"  she  said,  as  they 
went  up  into  the  house  together. 

"You  are  looking  well,  dear,"  he  said,  when  she  had 
laid  off  her  bonnet  and  dolman  and  was  seated  by  him 
near  the  parlor  fire. 

"Oh!    I  am  always  well." 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  how  have  you  borne  the  solitude 
of  this  place?  It  has  been  very  lonely  for  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Lilith,  hesitating  and  changing  color — 
""but — at  first — I  mean  it  was  very  lonely  at  first." 

He  was  watching  her,  and  he  saw  her  confusion. 

"At  first  you  were  very  lonely.  And  afterwards, 
Lilith?" 

"Mrs.  Jordon  came  with  her  daughters  and  spent 
the  day,  and  took  me  away  to  stay  a  week  with  them. 
Was  I  wrong  to  go  away  for  a  week,  Tudor?" 

"No,  dear,  why  should  you  think  so?" 

"I  don't  know.  Mrs.  Jordon  said  it  was  right  that  I 
should  go;  and  I  knew  the  house  could  be  safely  left 


186  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

in    charge    of    Nancy,  as  it  has  been  left  on  many 
occasions." 

"Of  course." 

"And  everybody  has  been  so  good  to  me,  Tudor. 
Dr.  Kerr  and  Mrs.  Kerr,  and  Mr.  Cave  and  the  Misses 
Cave  have  called — though  it  was  while  I  was  at  Rush- 
more — and  when  we  met  them  all  at  the  church  yes- 
terday they  all  invited  me  to  come  and  stay  a  week  at 
their  houses;  and  indeed  there  was  quite  an  emula- 
tion between  them  as  to  who  should  have  me  first.  It 
was  so  very  good  in  them!"  exclaimed  Lilith,  warmly. 

"It  was  kind  and  neighborly,"  said  Mr.  Hereward. 
But  he  noticed  that  she  had  not  alluded  to  the  visit  of 
the  stranger  who  had  stayed  a  week  at  the  house. 
Was  it,  he  asked  himself,  that  she  considered  the 
visitor  too  insignificant  to  be  thought  of  or  spoken  of, 
or  was  she  afraid  to  speak  of  him?  Tudor  HerewarJ 
could  not  answer  his  own  question.  He  resolved  to 
wait  and  watch.  He  was  again  disturbed,  and  again 
ashamed  of  his  disturbance. 

"Are  you  really  so  glad  to  see  me,  Lilith?"  he 
inquired. 

"  'Glad?'  Oh!"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
face  so  radiant  with  truth  and  joy  that  he  could  not 
doubt  her. 

"Yet  I  wonder  why  she  does  not  speak  of  that 
strange  visitor,  and  why  she  hesitated  and  faltered 
when  first  I  asked  if  she  had  been  very  lonely,"  he 
thought  to  himself. 

"Well,  my  dear,  since  you  are  so  glad  to  see  me, 
will  you  be  glad  to  go  back  with  me  to  Washington? 
For  you  understand,  of  course,  that  this  is  but  a  fly- 
ing visit  home.  Will  you  return  with  me  to  the  city?" 

Her  face  of  rapture  was  a  picture  to  see. 

"Return  with  you?  Oh!  yes,  indeed,  if  you  will  have 
me,"  she  said,  with  delight  in  every  tone  of  her  voice. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  187 

"She  is  a  perfect  child,"  lie  thought,  as  his  doubts 
vanished. 

"Very  well,  little  lady-love.  But  I  am  afraid  you 
will  find  life  very  dull  there  with  me — very  differ- 
ent from  the  gay  lives  of  other  ladies  who  accompany 
their  husbands  to  the  national  capital." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  Tudor.  You  know  we  could  not  be  gay; 
but  I  should  never  think  life  dull  with  you,"  she  an- 
swered, warmly. 

"But,  my  dear,  I  am  away  every  day,  all  day  long, 
and  often  late  at  night,  at  the  Capitol — either  in  my 
seat  in  the  Hall  of  Representatives  or  serving  on  some 
committee,  or " 

"  But  I  should  see  you  every  night,  Tudor,  even  if  it 
should  be  late;  and  that  would  be  happiness  compared 
to  this  recent  separation." 

"Yes,  love,  you  would  see  me  at  night — bending  over 
my  writing-desk,  where  the  dawn  has  often  found  me." 

"Oh,  Tudor!  Do  you  really  have  to  work  so  hard? 
I  must  try  to  help  you." 

"You  help  me!    Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"You  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  said,  with  perfect 
good  humor;  "but  indeed  I  could  help  you.  I  could 
lighten  your  labors  very  much." 

"What  could  you  do,  my  little  lady-love?"  he  in- 
quired, laying  his  hand  patronizingly  on  her  small, 
black,  curly-haired  head.  "What  could  you  do?" 

"All  that  a  private  secretary  could  do  for  you." 

Hereward  started  slightly,  and  looked  wistfully  into 
her  face. 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  the  duties  of  a  private  secre- 
tary, Lilith?" 

"More  than  any  young  person  could  have  who  enters 
upon  those  duties  for  the  first  time,"  she  answered, 
simply. 

"Indeed!  Well,  what  are  they?  What  could  you 
do?" 


188  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"I  could  read  and  answer  letters,  hunt  out  the  au- 
thors you  wish  to  consult,  mark  and  copy  the  extracts 
you  wish  to  use,  sometimes  translate,  if  desirable, 
write  to  your  dictation,  or  copy  in  a  clear,  legible  hand 
your  hastily  written,  interlined  and  blotted  manu- 
script. Of  course  I  could  do  all  that,  Tudor;  and  oh! 
I  should  be  so  glad — so  very  glad — to  help  you!  I, 
who  have  nothing  at  all  else  to  do,  and  feel  ashamed 
of  my  own  idleness  and  worthlessness." 

"Lilith!  You  surprise  me!  Where  did  you  acquire 
that  much  knowledge  of  what  might  be  expected  of 
a  private  secretary?" 

"Why,  by  helping  our  dear  father.  Don't  you  know 
he  used  to  occupy  himself  during  the  long  winter 
evenings  by  writing  a  great  deal  for  the  papers?" 

"Would  it  be  discreet  to  inquire  now  with  how 
many  foreign  languages  you  are  conversant?"  de- 
manded Hereward,  with  good-humored  irony. 

"Conversant  with  but  three — Latin,  French  and 
German.  For  those  three  I  took  the  highest  honors 
at  Vassar.  Then,  with  the  aid  of  grammar  and  dic- 
tionary, I  can  translate  Spanish  and  Italian." 

"Ah!  and  so  you  helped  my  father  in  his  literary 
work  in  this  manner?" 

"Oh,  yes!  And  sometimes  I  wrote  at  his  dictation. 
And  at  other  times  I  made  fair,  legible  copies  of  his 
articles,  which  in  their  first  draft  were  always  fright- 
fully blotted  and  interlined.  Yes,  so  we  used  to  pass 
winter  evenings,  and  tempestuous  days  when  we  could 
not  get  outdoors.  Oh!  you  do  not  know  what  chums 
father  and  I  were!  We  were  co-laborers  in  working 
hours  and  play-mates  in  play-time!" 

"I  seem  to  know  little  or  nothing  of  all  this.  You 
must  miss  him  very  much,"  said  Hereward,  gravely. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Lilith,  seriously. 

"What!  How  is  that?  You  were  very  fond  of 
him." 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  189 

"I  was  very  fond  of  him." 

"And  yet  you  do  not  miss  him?" 

"No,  strange  as  it  seems,  I  do  not  miss  him.  I  can- 
not explain  it  even  to  myself;  but — I  do  not  seem  to 
have  lost  him;  he  seems  to  be  still  in  the  house;  every- 
where about;  a  sense  of  his  presence  is  constantly 
with  me;  that  is  the  reason  why  I  never  miss  him! 
Yes,  you  may  well  stare  at  me;  for  I  wonder  at  myself 
and  at  the  comfort  and  satisfaction  this  feeling  of  his 
presence  gives  me." 

"The  united  effect  of  memory  and  imagination,  my 
dear;  but  I  will  not  object  to  it,  since  it  pleases  yon. 
And  so  you  think,  little  lady  mine,  that  you  could  help 
me  in  the  same  way  in  which  you  used  to  help  my 
father?" 

"I  am  sure  I  could,  Tudor!  And  oh!  how  I  wish  you 
would  let  me  try!  It  is  the  work  I  should  like  best  of 
all  to  do,  because  I  should  be  with  you,  helping  you. 
And  it  is  the  work  I  can  best  do,  because  I  have  been 
used  to  it,  you  know!" 

"I  'know'!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  know  very  little  of 
you,  my  lady,  except  what  I  daily  discover,  or  what 
you  choose  to  tell  me!  I  asked  you  just  now  whether 
you  had  any  idea  of  the  duties  of  a  private  secretary; 
and  you  answered  satisfactorily  and  gave  an  instance, 
if  not  a  'reference.'  I  now  ask  you,  my  little  love, 
whether  you  have  any  idea  what  a  great  relief  your 
help  would  be  to  my  over-burdened  hours  if  you  could 
do  one-quarter  even  of  what  you  propose?" 

"Oh,  Tudor!  You  make  me  so  glad  when  you  say 
that !  Yes,  indeed,  I  can  do  all  that  I  have  proposed  to 
do,  and  much  more.  Try  me!  Only  try  me!  I  shall 
be  so  diligent!  so  careful!  I  know  you  do  think  that  I 
am  too  young,  and  perhaps  too  foolish  to  do  much 
good;  but  I  am  seventeen  now,  and  in  two  years  I  shall 
be  nineteen,  and  older  and  older  every  year!  And  even 
now  I  am  not  half  so  much  of  a  child  as  I  seem  to  be! 


190  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

I  have  always  been  the  companion  of  our  dear  father, 
and  he  did  not  think  me  so  childish,  you  know!" 

"I  repeat  that  I  know  very  little  of  you,  my  darling, 
except  what  I  am  now  to  discover,"  said  Hereward, 
with  more  tenderness  than  he  had  yet  shown  towards 
her. 

"Oh,  then,  find  me  out,  Tudor!  Prove  how  useful  I 
can  be  to  you!  I  do  so  long  to  be  useful!  I  do  so 
despair  at  being  idle  and  worthless!" 

"And  yet  this  work  that  you  propose  does  not  ap- 
pear to  be  a  woman's  work,"  objected  Hereward. 

"Not  always!  Not  often,  perhaps!  Not  when 
women  have  large  households  to  look  after!  But  in 
my  case  it  is  different.  What  home  duties  should  1 
have,  living  with  you  in  a  room  at  a  hotel?  To  take 
the  best  care  of  your  wardrobe  and  my  own  need  not 
occupy  half  an  hour  a  week!  Will  you  take  me  for 
jour  private  secretary  or  for  office  boy,  Mr.  Hereward? 
Shall  I  make  my  application  out  in  writing  to  show 
whether  I  can  write  legibly  and  grammatically?  I 
will  do  so!"  she  said,  with  a  gay  little  laugh,  as  she 
went  and  sat  down  to  the  writing  table,  drew  a  sheet 
of  paper  towards  her  and  began  to  work. 

Soon  she  arose  with  a  bow,  and  handed  him  a  folded 
paper,  which  he  opened  with  a  smile,  and  read: 

CLOUD-CAPPED  CLIFFS,  Jan.  23,  18 — . 
To  THE  HON.  TDDOR  HEREWARD,  House  of  Repr?ien- 
tatives,  Washington,  D.  C. — Sir:  I  have  the  honc^  to 
solicit  an  appointment  as  your  private  secretary.  For 
my  character  and  competence,  I  beg  leave  to  refer  you 
to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cave,  Rector  of  St.  Luke's,  and  Dr. 
Kerr,  both  of  Frosthill.  Very  respectfully,  your 
obedient  servant,  ELIZABETH  W.  HEREWARD. 

"I  shall  keep  this  as  a  family  curiosity,"  said  Here- 
ward, as  he  put  the  lette*  into  his  pocket. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  191 

"Oh,  you  may  laugh,  sir!  But  that  is  just  exactly 
the  sort  of  letter  that  I  should  have  written  to  'some 
person  or  persons  unknown,'  had  I  not  had  the  greater 
honor  of  becoming  your  wife,"  she  said,  with  a  grave 
little  nod  of  her  curly  black  head. 

Hereward  gazed  on  her  with  feelings  of  admiration 
and  tenderness.  He  felt  his  heart  drawn  towards  her 
as  it  had  never  been  drawn  before.  He  sat  down 
beside  her,  put  his  arms  around  her,  took  her  little 
bowed  head  upon  his  bosom  and  whispered,  gently: 

"You  shall  be  your  husband's  private  secretary,  my 
accomplished  little  wife!  Ah,  I  did  not  know  half 
what  a  treasure  my  father  was  giving  me,  when  he 
gave  me  you!  Look  up,  Lilith!  Let  me  see  your  sweet 
face.  Look  up  and  tell  me  how  long  it  will  take  you 
to  get  ready  to  accompany  me  to  Washington?" 

"It  will  not  take  me  an  hour  to  pack  up.  You  know, 
being  in  mourning,  I  have  so  few  things  to  take.  When 
do  you  wish  to  go,  Tudor?"  she  inquired,  gradually  re- 
covering herself. 

"This  is  Monday.  We  must  leave  here  to-morrow 
morning,  for  I  must  be  at  my  post  on  Wednesday." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  quite  ready.  There  is  Steve  waiting 
to  speak  to  you." 

The  negro  man  stood  in  the  door,  respectfully 
waiting. 

"What  is  it,  Steve?" 

"De  oberseer,  sah,  hearin'  as  yer'd  'rove  at  home, 
wish  in'  to  see  yer." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"In  de  dinin'-room,  sah." 

"Very  well.  I  will  go  to  him,"  said  Hereward, 
rising  and  leaving  the  parlor. 

Lilith  then  went  upstairs  to  her  own  chamber, 
which  she  found  in  perfect  order,  with  a  fine  fire  burn- 
ing in  the  open  chimney,  and  Nancy  in  dutiful  at- 
tendance. 


192  THE    UNLOVED    WIFE 

"  'Deed,  Lor'  knows  I  moughty  glad  to  see  yer  back 
ag'in,  Miss  Lilif,  'deed  is  I.  An'  yer  look  so  well  an' 
happy,  too!  Better'n  I  ebber  see  yer  look  since  ole 
marse  went  to  glory,"  was  Nancy's  salutation. 

"Thank  you,  Nancy.  I  enjoyed  my  visit  very  muck, 
indeed,  but  I  am  glad  to  get  home  to  you  again." 

"Dat's  you,  Miss  Lilif.  Yer  allers  was  'tach'  to  ole 
Nancy.  Wen  yer  was  a  baby  yer  nebber  would  go  to 
no  one  else  f'om  me,  'cept  it  was  ole  marse." 

"But,  Nancy,  I  am  going  to  Jeave  you  again  soon.  I 
am  going  to  Washington  with  Mr.  Hereward." 

"Yes,  I  'spicioned  dat;  and  dat's  all  right,  too.  Ef  1 
was  yer  own  born  mammy  I  couldn't  'plain  ob  dat. 
'Deed,  I  fink  yer  ought  to  goed  w'en  young  marse  firs' 
went  hisse'f." 

"Yes,  Nancy,  dear,  but  we  haven't  got  time  to  talk. 
We  must  entertain  the  master  as  a  distinguished  guest 
to-day,  for  to-morrow  morning  we  leave  for  Wash- 
ington," said  Lilith. 

And  then  the  little  mistress  and  her  housekeeper 
went  into  consultation  on  dinner  and  other  household 
matters. 

Meanwhile,  Tudor  Hereward,  having  finished  the 
short  interview  with  his  overseer,  took  a  solitary  stroll 
over  the  plantation  to  commune  with  his  own 
thoughts.  He  was  studying  Lilith — the  child  whom 
fit  his  dying  father's  petition  he  had  married  in  the 
«?me  mood  of  recklessness  and  desperation  in  which, 
•  nd  he  been  an  irreligious  man,  he  might  have  com- 
mitted suicide.  He  had  considered  his  marriage  a 
most  grievous  burden — all  the  more  oppressive  be- 
cause he  was  resolved  to  do  his  duty  as  faithfully 
and  conscientiously  by  his  child-wife  as  if  she  had 
been  the  brilliant  woman  of  the  world  whom  he  had 
dreamed  of  as  his  proper  companion. 

Now  he  thought  of  all  that  she  desired,  claimed  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  193 

petitioned  to  be  to  him — his  wife,  companion  and  co- 
laborer  through  all  his  career. 

Why,  this  was  more  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of 
in  his  ideal  "brilliant  woman  of  the  world." 

But  could  she,  that  little  Lilith  of  seventeen  years, 
with  the  form  of  a  child  and  the  face  of  a  baby,  be  all 
of  that  to  him  ?  No,  no ;  impossible.  She  was  a  lovely 
little  being,  and  in  her  presence  he  was  fond  of  her, 
but  it  was  the  fondness  of  a  man  for  a  winning  child 
or  a  kitten.  She  could  never  be  the  intimate,  sympa- 
thetic companion  of  his  intellectual,  aspiring  life. 

True,  she  had  graduated  with  honors  when  she  was 
but  sixteen  years  of  age  from  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished colleges  for  young  ladies,  and  she  had  helped 
her  foster-father  in  his  literary  labors  during  the  last 
years  of  his  life. 

But  all  that  proved  no  intellectual  superiority.  A 
good  memory,  a  medium  understanding  and  industry 
were  all  that  was  required  for  such  achievements. 

She  was  his  wife;  she  might  be  his  assistant;  but 
could  she  be  his  true  mate,  his  second  self,  one  with 
him  in  heart  and  mind?  Ah!  no;  it  was  not  in  her  to 
be  such! 

She  loved  him,  indeed.  He  knew  and  felt  that  she 
did.  But  she  loved  him  exactly  as  she  had  loved  his 
father;  only  a  little  less,  perhaps.  Not  with  the  love 
that  he  wanted  from  the  woman  who  was  to  share  his 
life  and  make  his  home  and  his  happiness.  No,  nor 
could  he  give  her  the  love  that  he  could  have  given  to 
such  a  woman.  He  could  only  be  fond  of  her — while 
he  saw  her!  Yes,  there  was  one  thing  more  that  he 
could  and  would  be.  He  could  be  faithful  to  her,  and 
absolutely  and  utterly  faithful  he  determined  to  be. 

And  to  make  a  beginning  in  this  direction,  he  re- 
solved to  tell  her  all  the  story  of  his  disappointment  in 
the  case  of  Miss  Von  Kirschberg,  or  Madame  Bruyin. 

"Poor  little  one!    Poor,  little,  loving,  devoted  child! 


194  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

What  a  perfect  wife  she  would  have  made  to  a  man 
suited  to  her  years  and  mental  calibre!  Bah!"  he 
exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  dog-in-the-manger  jealousy. 
"There  is  no  such  man.  And  I  will  love  her  as  well  as 
I  can,  if  she  is  only  a  lovely,  little,  bright  school-girl." 

So  saying,  Tudor  Hereward  turned  his  face  home- 
ward. 

Dinner  was  ready,  and  Lilith — who  had  changed  her 
dress  and  put  a  white  camelia  in  her  dark  hair — 
looked  prettier  than  ever,  as  she  presided  at  the  table. 

That  evening,  after  tea,  as  the  newly  married  pair 
sat  by  the  pleasant  wood  fire  of  their  little  parlor, 
Tudor  Hereward  told  Lilith  the  whole  story  of  his 
first  love  and  his  bitter  disappointment. 

She  listened  in  silent  sympathy,  until,  at  the  end  of 
the  narration,  he  put  his  arm  around  her  waist,  drew 
her  head  down  on  his  bosom  and  whispered: 

"Now,  Lilith,  my  little  one,  I  felt  that  it  was  due  to 
my  wife  to  tell  her  all  this — to  have  no  secret  from  her 
who  is  to  be  my  consort  through  life.  And  now  that  I 
have  told  you  all  this,  my  sweet  one,  I  will  dismiss  the 
whole  subject  from  my  thoughts  forever,  as  I  hope 
that  you  will  be  able  to  do;  for,  darling,  your  own 
true  heart  is  worth  all  the  brilliant  counterfeits  in 
the  world." 

"Oh,  Tudor,  Tudor!  I  feel  so  much,  I  do  not  know 
what  to  say  to  you,  but  this — I  hope  you  will  let  me 
try  to  be  all  to  you  that  you  dreamed  the  finer  woman 
would  have  been.  Only  give  me  the  opportunity.  See, 
I  am  your  own.  Heaven  and  your  father  gave  me  to 
you,  and  if  all  my  life's  devotion  can  make  up  to  you 
for  your  life's  disappointment,  indeed  you  have  it!" 
she  said,  in  her  fervor  of  sympathy  and  affection, 
speaking  with  a  freedom  at  which  she  blushed. 

"Do  not  say  so,  dear  love.  I  do  not  deserve  that 
you  should.  No,  Heaven  knows  that  I  do  not,"  he 
sighed,  as  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  195 

Then  he  lighted  a  cigar  and  went  out  on  the  porch. 

When  he  had  left  the  room  a  change  came  over  the 
pretty,  childish  face — a  change  that  transformed  it  to 
tragic  intensity.  Not  from  reflex  jealousy,  for  there 
was  no  bitterness  in  her  heart  connected  with  this 
first  infatuation  of  her  husband;  he  was  her  husband; 
he  had  told  her  all  about  it;  he  had  married  her;  so 
she  could  never  be  jealous  of  that  first  lost  love,  es- 
pecially as  jealousy  was  not  in  her  nature;  no,  her 
present  anguish  was  that  of  remorse — remorse  so  keen 
that  now,  when  she  was  alone,  it  found  expression  in 
words: 

"He  has  told  me  all;  he  has  kept  nothing  from  me; 
he  has  told  me  his  heart's  deepest  secret! — my  true 
and  loyal  husband! — and  I — I  have  a  secret,  a  fatal 
secret,  that  I  must  forever  keep  from  him — from  him 
to  whom  all  my  love  and  faith  are  due.  Oh,  the  bur- 
den! the  burden!  the  grievous  burden  of  this  secret! 
It  is  more  than  I  can  bear!  Oh,  Lord  of  Heaven  and 
earth!  My  burden  is  heavier  than  I  can  bear!"  she 
cried,  clasping  her  hands  upon  the  top  of  her  head  and 
walking  distractedly  up  and  down  the  floor  in  a 
paroxysm  of  mental  anguish  that,  could  it  have  lasted, 
must  have  destroyed  her.  But  the  saving  feature  of 
these  sharp  agonies  is  that  they  do  not  last.  The 
storm  of  emotion  spent  itself,  and  Lilith  dropped  into 
her  chair,  where  she  sat  in  the  stillness  of  reaction 
and  exhaustion. 

In  half  an  hour  Mr.  Hereward  came  in  and  found 
her  sitting  calmly  where  he  had  left  her. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  "we  must  leave  here  to-morrow  by 
eight  o'clock,  in  order  to  catch  the  ten  o'clock  train 
for  Washington.  So  all  your  preparations  should  be 
completed  to-night." 

"All  are  completed,  Tudor.  When  shall  we  reach 
Washington?  tomorrow?"  she  inquired,  without  rais- 
ing her  head,  lest  he  should  discover  traces  of  her 


196  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

emotion  and  ask  her  questions  which  she  dare  not 
answer  truthfully. 

"About  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  dear — time 
enough  for  the  hotel  dinner  and  a  good  night's  rest; 
but  to  prepare  for  the  long  day's  journey,  Lilith,  you 
had  better  retire  to  rest,"  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    MEETING   ON   THE    TRAIN 

VERY  early  the  next  morning  the  household  at  the 
Cliffs  was  astir.  Breakfast  was  on  the  table  at  seven. 
The  carriage  was  at  the  door  at  eight,  with  Steve  on 
the  box. 

"Have  yon  seen  or  heard  anything  of  Alick?"  Mr. 
Hereward  inquired  of  the  coachman. 

"Yes,  sah.  Alick  is  sabe  and  sound  ober  at  Mr.  Jab 
Jordon's.  Levi,  Mr.  Jab's  man,  come  ober  yere  to  tell 
we-dem,"  replied  Steve. 

"Very  well.  Fielding  has  instructions  to  look  after 
him  and  notify  me  if  the  man  should  grow  worse,  or 
require  medical  attendance  or  restraint,"  said  Mr. 
Hereward. 

He  handed  Lilith  into  her  seat,  followed  her,  and 
the  carriage  started. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  drive,  over  the  stubble  fields 
and  through  the  leafless  woods,  in  the  bright  sunshine 
of  that  early  winter  morning. 

They  made  such  good  speed  that  they  reached  Frost- 
hill  full  twenty  minutes  before  the  train  was  expected 
to  start. 

Mr.  Hereward  sent  back  his  carriage  to  the  Cliffs 
and  led  Lilith  into  the  waiting-room,  where  he  left  her 
while  he  went  to  the  news-stand  to  buy  some  papers 
and  magazines  to  read  on  the  journey. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  197 

There  happened  to  be  no  one  in  the  room  but  her- 
self. Frosthill  was  never  a  busy  station. 

Lilith  sat  alone,  wrapped  in  her  own  thoughts,  until 
she  was  startled  by  a  voice  and  a  step  that  came  up 
behind  her. 

"Why,  Lilith,  darling,  you  here?  Where  are  you 
going?" 

She  recognized  the  voice  even  before  she  saw  the 
speaker.  She  arose,  turned,  and  confronted  Mr.  Alfred 
Ancillon. 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  in 
an  agony  of  appeal,  as  she  muttered,  hoarsely: 

"I  am  going  to  Washington  by  this  train.  Oh,  for 
the  love  of  Heaven! — Listen! — Mr.  Hereward  is  herel 
— Go!  go!  do  not  let  him  see  you! — Oh,  pardon  me  for 
saying  this,  but  leave  me  while  I  have  my  senses  left. 
Please — please  go!" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  will.  Hereward  here?  I  don't  see  him. 
Where  is  he?" 

"At  the  book-stand,  and  he  will  be  back  imme- 
diately. Oh,  go!" 

"Well,  dearest,  I  will.  I  understand,  my  darling 
girl.  I  understand.  I,  too,  am  going  to  Washington, 
and  I  shall  see  you  there.  Au  revoir,  ma  belle  fille." 
And  Mr.  Ancillon  lifted  his  jaunty  cap  from  his  black 
curls  and  walked  away. 

Lilith,  pale  and  trembling,  lowered  her  crape  veil  to 
hide  her  agitation  from  the,  eyes  of  her  husband,  who 
was  now  rapidly  approaching  with  a  bundle  of  news- 
papers and  magazines  in  his  hands. 

"Come,  my  little  lady-love.  The  train  will  be  here 
in  a  few  seconds,"  he  said,  as  he  offered  his  arm  to 
Lilith. 

She  arose  and  took  it  in  silence,  and  they  walked 
out  and  stood  on  the  platform  just  as  the  warning 
shriek  of  the  steam-pipe  was  heard,  followed  by  the 
rumbling  thunder  of  the  approaching  train. 


198  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

As  soon  as  it  stopped,  Hereward  hurried  his  young 
wife  into  the  ladies'  car,  found  for  her  a  comfortable 
seat  and  took  one  by  her  side.  And  the  train,  which 
had  stopped  only  thirty  seconds,  flew  off  again  on  its 
eastern  flight. 

There  were  but  few  passengers  in  the  ladies'  car, 
and  all  were  strangers  to  the  Herewards. 

It  was  while  the  train  was  rushing  on  at  its  utmost 
speed  that  Lilith  saw  the  door  in  front  of  her  open  and 
a  gentleman  put  in  his  head.  He  was  Alfred  Ancillon. 
He  met  Lilith's  eyes,  exchanged  glances  with  her,  nod- 
ded, withdrew  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

Mr.  Hereward,  absorbed  in  the  newspaper  that  he 
was  reading,  saw  nothing  of  this  by-play. 

The  train  rushed  on  and  on.  It  was  the  way-train 
and  stopped  at  many  stations,  where  people  got  out 
and  other  people  got  in. 

Finally,  at  two  o'clock,  the  train  stopped  at  one  of 
the  more  important  junction  stations,  where  the  con- 
ductor cried  out  in  a  loud  voice,  that  reached  from 
one  end  to  the  other  of  the  long  train: 

"WHEATFIELDS!    Twenty  minutes  for  dinner." 

"Come,  dear,  will  you  get  out?"  inquired  Mr.  Here- 
ward, rolling  up  his  papers  and  preparing  to  leave  the 
car.  "Shall  we  get  some  dinner?  They  keep  a  pretty 
fair  table  at  the  'Farmers'  Rest.'  Will  you  come?" 

"No,  please,  Tudor,  not  if  I  can  be  permitted  to  stay 
here,"  pleaded  Lilith. 

"But  it  would  rest  and  refresh  you  to  leave  the  cars 
for  a  few  minutes,"  he  urged. 

"I  would  rather  not,  sir,  thank  you,  Tudor.  Please 
go  and  dine.  I  shall  be  very  well  here,"  persisted 
Lilith,  who  was  in  deadly  fear  of  meeting  Alfred  An- 
cillon by  venturing  into  the  hotel. 

"But  you  must  have  something,  dear.  You  can  havo 
it  here  if  you  wish.  What  shall  I  send  you?"  urged 
Hereward. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  199 

"Since  you  think  so,  you  may  send  me  a  sandwich 
and  a  cup  of  tea;  but  if  you  do  not  hurry,  Tudor,  you 
will  not  have  time  to  get  your  own  dinner." 

"I  think  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  me,  little  one,"  he 
said,  smiling  as  he  left  the  car. 

Every  one  else  had  also  left  it. 

Lilith  was  alone  for  about  two  minutes,  and  then  a 
hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  and  a  voice  spoke  in 
her  ear: 

''Lilith,  my  child,  one  moment — let  me  speak  to  you 
for  one  moment!  Where  will  you  be  in  Washington? 
Where  ,«hall  I  be  able  to  meet  you  there?" 

It  was  the  hand  and  it  was  the  voice  of  Alfred 
Ancillon. 

Lilith,  in  an  agony  of  terror  and  distress,  feeling  on 
the  very  verge  of  swooning,  could  scarcely  answer  him. 

"Oh,"  she  faltered,  "you  must  not  try  to  see  me  in 
Washington.  You  must  not,  indeed.  Oh,  pardon  me 
for  saying  this,  but  you  must  not!" 

"Lilith,  my  darling,  that  seems  very  hard.  Why 
may  I  not  see  you  sometimes  alone?"  he  pleaded,  fix- 
ing those  large,  pensive  dark  eyes  imploringly  on  her 
troubled  face.  "I  who  have  some  rights  over  you  also 
— I  who  have  lost  you  for  so  many  years — for  all  your 
life,  in  fact.  Why  may  I  not  see  you  sometimes 
alone?" 

"My  duty  to  my  husband — "  began  the  young  wife; 
but  her  voice  faltered,  and  she  watched  nervously 
through  the  car  window  for  any  sign  of  the  return  of 
Hereward. 

"Your  duty  to  your  husband?  I  do  not  dispute  that. 
I  even  like  it.  I  would  have  you  to  be  a  good  and  true 
wife.  But  have  you  no  duties  to  me,  Lilith?" 

"Oh,  I  do  not  know!  I  do  not  know!  My  mind  is 
perplexed;  my  heart  troubled.  The  burden  of  this 
secret  is  killing  me — is  killing  me!  Oh,  if  you  would 
release  me  from  my  oath!  If  you  would  but  let  me  tell 


200  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

my  husband!"  Lilith  pleaded,  in  a  low,  heart-broken 
tone. 

"And  consign  me  to  a  fate  you  dare  not  even  think 
of,  and  I  will  not  even  name." 

"Oh,  no!  no!  no!  I  cannot  betray  you.  I  will  not. 
But  oh!  do  not  try  to  meet  me  in  Washington!  Do  not! 
I  could  not — would  not  meet  you  without  my  hus- 
band's knowledge.  To  keep  this  secret  from  him  is  as 
far  as  I  can  go,  as  much  as  I  can  do.  And  it  is  kill- 
ing me!  For  he  is  so  true  and  good,  so  frank  and 
noble,  that  he  keeps  no  secret  from  me.  And  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  sinning  against  him  all  the  time." 

"My  poor  little  girl,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you.  I 
almost  regret  that  I  ever  sought  you  out,  Lilith.  But 
the  temptation  to  look  once  upon  the  face  that  be- 
longed to  me  was  too  strong.  And  since  I  have  looked 
upon  that  sweet  face  it  has  become  the  light  of  my 
life,  Lilith.  And  you  can  say  to  me  that  I  must  ndt 
seek  to  see  it  in  Washington!" 

"No,  you  must  not!  You  may  believe  in  my  love  for 
you — in  my  duty  to  you.  But  you  must  not  do  any- 
thing to  make  trouble  between  my  husband  and  my- 
self! You  would  not,  would  you?" 

"Not  willingly,  dear  child.  But  I  must  see  you 
again.  I  must  look  again  on  the  face  that  is  the  light 
of  my  life!  Good-bye,  my  sweet  child." 

And  he  turned  and  abruptly  left  the  car,  as  a  hotel 
waiter,  bearing  a  tray,  came  in  and  placed  it  on  the 
turned-over  seat  in  front  of  Lilith. 

But  she  could  not  eat.  Her  mouth  was  parched,  her 
throat  choked.  She  drank  the  cup  of  tea  and  sent  the 
waiter  away. 

Ten  minutes  later  Mr.  Hereward  and  all  his  fellow- 
travelers  re-entered  the  car,  and  the  train  started. 

The  remaining  half  of  the  journey  was  made  with- 
out incident  worth  recording. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  201 

And  precisely  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  train 
reached  Washington. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WILL   HE    LOVE   HER? 

"STAND  here  for  a  moment,  dear,  while  I  get  a  car- 
riage," said  Tudor  Hereward,  as  he  left  his  young 
wife  on  the  crowded  platform,  and  stepped  out  among 
the  shouting,  jostling  pack  of  haekmen  and  porters, 
who  render  our  railway  stations  the  terror  of  timid 
travelers. 

Her  husband  was  no  sooner  lost  in  the  confusion  and 
herself  alone  in  the  crowd,  than  Lilith  felt  a  hand 
laid  upon  her  shoulder,  and  heard  a  voice  whispering 
in  her  ear: 

"Only  a  moment  to  say  good-bye,  my  child,  and  to 
ask  you  to  give  me  your  address,"  pleaded  Mr.  Alfred 
Ancillon,  standing  behind  her. 

"Oh,  I  dare  not!  I  dare  not  do  so!  Pray — pray — 
if  you  love  me,  do  not  seek  to  see  me  in  Washington," 
Lilith  implored,  in  deadly  fear. 

"I  will  not,  since  you  object.  Yet  it  is  hard.  It  is 
hard.  I  should  like  to  know  where  you  are  to  live, 
where  to  fix  you  when  I  think  of  you.  But  no  matter. 
I  do  not  blame  you,  Lilith.  I  blame  myself.  I  ought 
never  to  have  sought  you  out — never  to  have  made 
myself  known  to  you;  but  I  could  not  help  it.  Oh,  my 
child,  I  could  not  help  it!  You  draw  me,  Lilith!  Yon 
draw — you  compel  me!" 

"You  should  not,  for  your  own  sake,  have  followed 
me,  especially  here  to  Washington,  where  there  are  so 
many  foreigners,  English  among  them — English  who 
might  recognize  you.  No;  for  your  own  safety,  dear, 
you  should  not  have  followed  me  here,"  said  Lilith, 


202  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

speaking  as  gently,  as  tenderly,  as  her  fright  and 
anxiety  would  permit. 

"I  did  not  follow  you  here,  darling.  I  did  not  even 
know  that  you  were  coming.  I  left  Staunton  to  fulfill 
an  engagement  at  Washington,  and  you  took  the  train 
at  Frosthill.  Mr.  Hereward  is  coming  to  take  you 
away.  I  shall  see  you  again.  Good-bye,  my  child." 

He  was  gone,  and  Hereward  was  at  her  side. 

"You  are  shivering  with  cold,  Lilith.  But  never 
mind.  Come,  get  into  the  carriage,  and  we  will  soon 
be  at  our  hotel,"  said  Tudor  Hereward,  as  he  drew  her 
trembling  arm  within  his  own,  and  led  her  to  a  well- 
cushioned,  closed  carriage,  put  her  into  it,  and  took 
his  seat. 

"To  the  Hotel,"  he  said  to  the  hackman. 

And  the  carriage  rolled  off  and  turned  into  Penn- 
sylvania Avenue. 

Lilith  was  thankful  for  the  darkness  of  the  interior, 
which  aided  her  crape  vail  in  concealing  her  pale  and 
anxious  face  from  the  observation  of  her  husband. 

A  few  more  revolutions  of  the  carriage-wheels 
brought  them  to  their  hotel. 

They  drew  up  at  the  ladies'  entrance. 

Hereward  got  down  and  handed  his  wife  to  the  pave- 
ment, paused  a  moment  to  pay  and  discharge  the  car- 
riage, and  then  led  her  into  the  house  and  up  to  the 
ladies'  parlor. 

"Remain  here  for  a  few  moments,  dear,  while  I  go 
down  to  the  office  to  register  and  get  my  key,"  he  said, 
as  he  led  her  to  a  corner  sofa  and  left  the  room. 

The  large  parlor,  or  rather  parlors — for  there  were 
several  rooms  en  suite,  and  only  divided  by  curtained 
and  festooned  arches — were  occupied  by  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  evening  dresses,  reclining  on  sofas, 
standing  in  groups,  or  promenading  in  pairs;  for  the 
hotel  dinner  was  over  and  the  patrons  of  the  house 
were  all  either  receiving  visitors  in  the  general  par- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  203 

lors,  or  were  waiting  the  hour  to  start  for  some  eve- 
ning party  or  entertainment. 

They  took  no  notice  of  Lilith,  who  sat  quite  still  in 
her  corner,  and  who  was  only  one  of  the  frequent  new 
arrivals,  and  might  be  but  a  transient  guest  of  the 
house,  for  aught  they  knew  to  the  contrary.  Nor  did 
she  pay  much  attention  to  them,  until  a  group  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  sitting  a  few  feet  from  her,  be- 
gan to  talk  of  one  in  whom  she  took  a  deep  interest. 

"Yes,"  said  a  gray-haired  male  gossip,  "and  the 
manner  in  which  she  led  on  that  young  Hereward  was 
simply  dishonorable!  Why,  every  one  thought  they 
were  engaged  lovers,  and  were  looking  forward  to  re- 
ceiving their  wedding  cards,  when  the  announcement 
of  her  approaching  marriage  with  Mr.  Bruyin  fell  like 
a  thunder-clap  upon  people." 

"And  poor  young  Hereward  has  never  been  the 
same  man  since  her  marriage,"  added  a  very  stout 
and  high-complexioned  matron,  with  gold-powdered 
blonde  hair,  and  in  a  rich  evening  dress.  "He  used 
to  be  one  of  our  best  society  young  men!  Now  he  is 
never  seen  in  public  at  all,  except,  indeed,  in  his  seat 
in  the  House." 

"Ah! —  talk  of  his  Satanic  Majesty  and — you  know 
the  result!  Here  comes  the  young  fellow,"  said  the 
gray-haired  male  gossip. 

Hereward  had  entered  at  the  most  distant  door 
fronting  this  group,  and  walked  rapidly  up  to  his 
young  wife.  He  was  not  near  enough  to  the  group  in 
question  to  be  obliged  to  recognize  or  bow  to  them. 
He  only  stooped  and  whispered  to  Lilith: 

"Come,  my  little  love!"  and  led  her  from  the  room. 

Hereward  led  his  young  wife  down  a  brilliantly 
lighted  hall,  between  rows  of  doors,  some  of  them 
open,  revealing  glimpses  of  spacious  and  handsomely 
furnished  apartments,  to  the  elevator  that  took  them 


204  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

up  to  the  top  floor  among  the  most  plainly  fitted  and 
lowest-priced  rooms  in  the  house. 

On  landing  he  went  and  unlocked  his  own  door  and 
led  Lilith  into  his  den. 

Lilith,  accustomed  to  the  spacious,  comfortable 
apartments  of  her  old-fashioned  country  home,  in- 
voluntarily shrank  back  in  dismay. 

The  room  was  small,  dingy  and  fireless;  the  table 
and  the  faded  red  carpet  strewn  and  littered  with 
papers,  and  the  uncurtained  window  covered  with 
frost. 

All  this  Lilith  saw  from  the  gas  jet  that  stood  oppo- 
site the  open  door,  in  the  passage  without;  for  there 
was  no  light  in  that  cheerless  room. 

"Bah!  what  a  beast  I  was  to  forget  to  order  a  fire 
lighted!  There  are  no  registers  on  this  floor,  dear!" 
said  Hereward,  as  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  cigar- 
box  of  matches. 

"I  am  very  glad  there  are  not,  Tudor!  I  like  an 
open  fire  so  much  better,"  replied  Lilith,  who  had  re- 
covered from  her  first  dismay  at  sight  of  the  room. 

"I  will  ring  and  have  a  fire  made  immediately. 
Don't  take  off  your  wraps,  dear,  for  it  is  as  cold  here 
as  it  is  outdoors,"  said  Hereward,  as  at  length  he 
struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  gas. 

The  fuller  light  did  but  reveal  the  more  clearly  the 
cheerlessness  of  the  dingy,  untidy  room. 

To  Lilith  it  looked  really  poverty-stricken,  almost 
squalid. 

"Sit  down  in  that  easy-chair,  and  wrap  your  mantle 
closely  around  you  and  keep  still,  and  we  shall  have  a 
fire  presently,"  said  Hereward,  as  he  gave  a  vigorous 
pull  to  the  bell. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  to 
Mr.  Hereward's  "Come  in"  a  hotel  porter  appeared. 

"I  want  a  fire  here,  Martin,  as  soon  as  possible. 


THE   UNLOVED    WIFE  205 

And  open  the  window  to  ventilate  the  room  while 
you  are  kindling  it." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Come,  my  little  lady  love,  we  will  go  downstairs," 
said  Hereward,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  led  Lilith  out  of 
the  room,  leaving  the  porter  in  possession. 

They  went  down  in  the  elevator  to  the  dining-room 
floor,  and  again  passed  open  or  half-open  doors,  reveal- 
ing glimpses  of  handsome  suites  of  apartments. 

And  Lilith,  who  had  not  been  used  to  any  economy 
in  her  home  life  or  while  traveling  with  her  foster- 
father,  wondered  why  her  husband  did  not  occupy  one 
of  those  fine  suites  of  rooms  instead  of  the  poor  cham- 
ber at  the  top  of  the  house. 

She  was  to  learn  the  reason  later. 

They  entered  the  dining-hall,  and  Hereward  led  her 
to  a  remote,  unoccupied  table,  where  they  sat  down 
and  where  they  were  immediately  attended  by  a 
waiter,  to  whom  Hereward,  after  consulting  Lilith, 
gave  his  orders. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  they  were  served  with  hot 
coffee,  stewed  oysters,  toast,  and  beefsteak  on  a  chaf- 
ing-dish. 

Hereward,  and  even  Lilith,  who  had  scarcely  broken 
her  fast  since  morning,  did  full  justice  to  these  re- 
freshments. 

When  their  supper  was  over,  and  they  had  reached 
their  attic  chamber  again,  they  found  a  fine  fire  of  sea 
coal  glowing  in  the  grate,  which  had  been  freshly 
polished. 

And  this  gave  the  room  a  much  more  habitable  and 
even  comfortable  aspect  than  it  had  had  before, 
though  still  the  table  and  the  floor  were  strewn  and 
littered  with  papers. 

"You  can  take  off  your  bonnet  and  cloak  and  heavy 
shoes  now,  Lilith.  You  must  be  very  tired  of  them. 
There  is  no  wardrobe  or  closet  in  this  apartment,  dearj 


206  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

but  there  is  a  row  of  hooks  on  the  wall  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  where  you  can  hang  them.  This  is  a  poor 
place  I  have  brought  you  to,  my  little  lady  love,"  said 
Hereward,  who  had  already  seated  himself  in  his  arm- 
chair at  the  table  before  the  fire,  and  was  beginning  to 
examine  the  letters  that  had  accumulated  during  the 
two  days  of  his  absence. 

"Oh,  I  do  not  mind  for  myself,  so  that  I  am  with 
you,  Tudor,  and  so  that  you  like  to  have  me.  You  do 
like  to  have  me,  don't  you,  Tudor?  I  am  not  in  your 
way,  am  I,  even  if  the  room  is  small?"  she  smilingly 
yet  anxiously  inquired. 

"In  my  way,  you  darling  child?  No;  but  I  wish  you 
were  better  lodged." 

"Oh,  never  mind  about  me.  But  yourself,  Tudor? 
Is  it  proper  that  a  man  of  your  position  should  be  so 
— humbly  lodged  as  this?" 

"My  little  love,  the  world  of  Washington  knows 
that  I  am  at  a  first-class  hotel.  They  do  not  know, 
and  need  never  know,  that  we  are  up  on  the  fifth  story. 
If  people  call,  we  receive  them  in  the  parlor  down- 
stairs. We  do  not  lose  caste  by  lodging  so  near  the 
clouds,"  he  gayly  replied. 

"But  for  your  comfort,  Tudor." 

"Comfort,  dear,  must  be  sacrificed  to  more  impor- 
tant considerations.  Yet  I  am  sorry  that  you  should 
suffer." 

"Oh,  never  mind  me,  I  say.  But,  Tudor,  I  thought— 
indeed  I  know  from  inference,  that  you  used  to  have  a 
very  handsome  suite  of  apartments  in  this  same  hotel, 
that  you  used  to  dress  elegantly  and  go  constantly 
into  society.  You  used  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular 
of  society  men — an  aesthete,  too;  now,  but  for  your 
public  duties,  you  are  an  anchorite,  an  ascetic.  Why  is 
this,  Tudor?"  she  inquired,  not  with  any  jealousy  oc- 
casioned by  what  she  had  overheard  in  the  parlor — 
for,  as  has  been  said,  Hereward  had  given  her  his 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  207 

whole  confidence  on  the  subject  of  his  first-love  story 
— but  in  unselfish  interest  in  his  comfort  and  welfare. 

The  change  in  his  habits  of  which  she  spoke  was 
true  enough;  and  he  determined  to  give  her  the  ex- 
planation to  which  he  thought  she  was  entitled. 

"My  dear,  I  was  about  to  tell  you  why  I  have 
changed  my  habits.  In  the  first  place,  I  cannot  go  into 
society  so  soon  after  my  father's  death,  as  you  know." 

"Of  course,  neither  you  nor  I  would  feel  like  doing 
so.  But  had  you  not  given  up  parties  even  before  that 
sorrow?" 

"No;  your  telegram  found  me  at  Senator  S.'s  mas- 
querade ball.  But  let  me  explain,  dear.  In  looking 
over  my  dear  father's  papers  after  his  death,  I  found 
evidence  that  he  had  borrowed  large  sums  of  money  at 
usurious  interest,  for  which  he  had  given  his  notes, 
and  with  which  he  had  speculated  and  lost.  Now, 
although  the  holders  of  my  father's  notes  have  no 
legal  claim  upon  the  estate,  which  came  to  me  through 
my  mother,  and  in  which  my  father  had  only  a  life  in- 
terest, yet  I  hold  myself  morally  bound  to  take  up 
those  notes,  to  pay  all  my  father's  debts.  And  I  am 
paying  them  out  of  my  salary;  for  you  know,  dear, 
that  the  old  plantation  barely  pays  its  own  expenses. 
That  is  the  reason  why,  when  in  Washington,  we  must 
live  very  cheaply." 

"Oh,  Tudor,  Tudor!  How  much  you  have  to  bear 
for  my  sake!  for  I  know  my  dear,  dear  foster-father 
entered  into  those  speculations  for  the  purpose  of 
making  some  money  to  leave  to  me — not  to  leave  me 
quite  destitute.  Oh,  how  shall  I  ever  be  able  to  make 
up  to  you  for  all  that  you  have  to  bear  on  my  ac- 
count?" 

"Hush,  dear!  You  are  making  it  up  to  me  now. 
But  to  proceed.  I  have  taken  up  all  his  notes,  giving 
my  own,  secured  by  bond  and  mortgage  on  the  old 
plantation.  If  I  remain  in  office,  as  I  fully  expect  to 


2G8  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

do,  I  shall  be  able  to  take  up  all  these  notes  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years.  If  not,  the  woods  must  be  cut 
down  and  the  quarries  worked  on  the  estate,  or,  if 
necessary,  even  the  half  of  the  land  must  be  sold  to 
clear  off  the  debts.  Do  not  look  so  grave,  little  lady. 
We  shall  be  here  but  a  few  months.  Though  this  is 
the  'long  session,'  I  think  Congress  will  certainly  ad- 
journ by  the  first  of  June." 

"If  I  cannot  help  you  to-night,  do  not  let  me  inter- 
rupt you  by  my  talk.  I  will  sit  here  and  watch  you, 
and  you  must  go  on  with  your  work  and  forget  my 
existence,"  said  Lilith,  as  she  drew  her  chair  to  the 
corner  of  the  hearth,  and  ceased  to  speak. 

"Your  presence  does  not  disturb  me  in  the  least,  my 
darling;  quite  the  contrary.  I  am  only  sorting  papers. 
I  shall  select  some  of  these  letters  for  you  to  answer 
to-morrow,  with  penciled  notes  for  guidance — some  of 
the  least  important  letters  to  begin  with,  by  way  of 
testing  your  ability,  my  little  lady." 

The  clock  on  the  steeple  of  a  neighboring  church 
was  intoning  twelve,  when  Hereward  arose  from  his 
work,  stretched  his  arms  with  a  silent  yawn,  and  said: 

"What  a  thoughtless  brute  I  am  to  have  kept  you 
up  at  this  hour  of  the  night,  after  a  long  journey,  too! 
This  is  the  sort  of  life  you  must  expect  to  lead  with 
me,  Lilith.  But  you  must  never  repeat  this  night's 
performance.  You  must  go  to  bed  at  a  proper  time, 
however  late  I  may  have  to  sit  up  and  work.  Here, 
my  little  lady  love.  Here  is  a  packet  of  letters  with 
penciled  guides,  which  you  may  try  your  '  'prentice 
hand'  upon  to-morrow,"  he  concluded,  placing  the  par- 
cel apart  from  the  other  papers. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  209 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   BUSY   BEE 

\ 

"The  blithest  bee  that  ever  wrought  in  hive." 

THE  next  morning  those  gossips  who  were  interested 
in  the  identity  of  the  young  lady  in  deep  mourning 
who  had  appeared  at  the  hotel  in  the  company  of  Mr. ; 
Tudor  Hereward,  took  an  early  opportunity  of  con- 
sulting the  list  of  arrivals  for  the  previous  day,  and 
found  there  an  entry  that  took  them  somewhat  by 
surprise: 

"Hon.  Tudor  Hereward  and  wife,  West  Virginia." 

"The  discarded  lover  was  not  long  in  consoling  him- 
self," said  one. 

"A  marvelous  short  time,  I  should  say,"  added  an- 
other. 

"I  wonder  what  she  is  like?"  inquired  a  third. 

"We  shall  see  at  breakfast.  She  will  be  at  break- 
fast with  him,  of  course,"  concluded  a  fourth. 

But  they  were  all  out  of  their  reckoning.  They  did 
not  see  either  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Tudor  Hereward  that  morn- 
ing. 

The  young  couple,  though  they  had  retired  so  late, 
arose  earlier  than  their  fellow-boarders,  and  went 
down  and  got  their  breakfast  when  there  was  no  one 
in  the  room  except  the  waiters  and  some  travelers 
who  were  to  go  off  by  some  early  train  or  boat. 

And  after  that  Tudor  had  escorted  Lilith  up  to  their 
room,  and  then  left  the  hotel  for  the  Capitol,  where  he 
had  some  business  to  do  before  the  meeting  of  the 
House. 

Lilith,  left  alone  in  the  little,  littered,  disorderly 
room,  looked  around  upon  the  scene. 

The  chambermaid  had  done  her  routine  duty — had 


210  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

made  the  bed,  changed  the  towels,  and  so  on — but  the 
table  and  the  carpet  were  strewn  with  a  litter  of 
letters  and  papers  and  pamphlets  that  it  was  none 
of  her  business  to  touch. 

So  first  of  all  she  went  down  on  the  carpet  and 
gathered  up  all  the  torn  and  scattered  papers,  examin- 
ing them  one  by  one,  lest  she  should  destroy  some- 
thing of  importance,  and  then  cramming  them  down 
into  the  waste-paper  basket,  which,  when  closely 
packed  and  pressed  down,  was  made  to  hold  all  the 
litter  in  the  room. 

She  then  rang  the  bell  and  sent  the  basket  down  by 
the  porter  to  be  emptied  and  returned. 

Then  she  carefully  laid  aside  the  various  files  of 
letters,  papers  and  pamphlets  with  which  the  writing- 
table  was  encumbered,  took  the  cover  off  and  shook 
it  out  of  the  open  window,  and,  after  dusting  the 
table,  covered  it  again,  and  replaced  the  files  of  papers 
in  their  accustomed  spots. 

She  emptied  the  dusty  and  sticky  inkstand  of  its 
thick  ink,  washed  it  under  the  running  water  of  the 
washstand,  and  filled  it  with  clear  ink. 

At  length,  when  she  had  made  everything  clean  and 
orderly,  Lilith  sat  down  and  took  up  the  file  of  letters 
that  she  was  to  answer  by  instructions,  and  have 
ready  for  Hereward  to  sign  when  he  should  return  in 
the  evening. 

She  went  through  the  whole  file,  examining  them 
to  survey  the  field  of  her  work  before  beginning. 

The  first  letter  proved  to  be  from  a  constituent  of 
Mr.  Hereward,  who  wanted  the  post-office  at  Hayville. 
The  penciled  line  of  instruction  was: 

"Reply  courteously  that  the  place  is  promised  to  an- 
other party.  Regrets,  etc." 

The  second  letter  was  an  inquiry  concerning  the  bill 
for  the  new  tariff.  The  line  of  directions  was: 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  211 

"Write  that  the  bill  will  be  presented  on  the  fifth' 
instant." 

The  third  letter  was  an  invitation  to  speak  at  a  cer- 
tain political  meeting  in  a  neighboring  city.  The  in- 
structions: 

"Answer  with  thanks  and  regrets.  Prior  engage- 
ments the  plea." 

And  so  through  the  file  of  twenty-three  letters,  with 
short  lines  of  instructions  to  guide  her  answers,  Lilith 
went,  with  growing  confidence  and  satisfaction  in  her 
task. 

"Why,  this  is  all  as  plain  as  copying.  Nothing  is 
left  to  my  doubtful  discretion,  therefore  nothing  is 
left  to  puzzle  me.  I  shall  easily  get  through  before 
Tudor  returns." 

Lilith  worked  on  and  on,  her  cheeks  flushed  and  her 
eyes  bright  with  pleasure  in  her  labor  of  love. 

She  shrank,  at  first  thought,  from  going  down  to  the 
dining-room  alone;  but,  knowing  that  she  must  over- 
come her  rustic  shyness,  sooner  or  later,  she  felt  that 
she  had  better  take  the  plunge  at  once. 

Lilith  dispatched  the  luncheon,  returned  to  her 
room,  and  resumed  her  work  until  she  had  completed 
her  task  at  about  half-past  five  o'clock. 

She  was  gathering  up  the  letters  to  bind  them  to- 
gether when  her  husband  entered  the  room  and 
walked  to  the  table. 

She  looked  up  with  sparkling  eyes  and  flushed 
cheeks. 

"How  pretty  you  are,  my  little  lady  love!  How  have 
you  got  on  since  I  left  you?"  he  inquired,  as  he  took 
the  bright  face  between  his  hands  and  kissed  her  fore- 
head. 

"Finely,  Tudor.    Have  you  time  now  to  glance  over 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

these  letters  and  sign  them?  Or  are  you  too  tired?" 
she  inquired,  rising  and  resigning  her  place  to  him. 

"I  am  not  yet  tired,  and  I  have  half  an  hour  at  my 
disposal  before  dinner.  I  will  glance  over  them  now,'' 
he  answered,  as  he  sank  into  the  chair  that  she  had 
left. 

He  was  a  very  rapid  reader,  especially  of  these 
letters  written  in  a  clear  hand.  In  fifteen  minutes  he 
had  run  through  and  signed  the  whole  lot  of  twenty- 
three  letters,  Lilith  watching  the  process  with  anxiety 
that  gradually  changed  to  delight  as  she  saw  him  sign 
and  seal  letter  after  letter  without  demur. 

"Your  day's  work  has  saved  me  a  night's  work,  my 
little  lady  love,"  he  said,  as  at  last  he  arose  and  gave 
her  a  kiss — the  all-sufficient  reward  for  all  her  efforts. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Tudor?  But  is  the 
work  well  done?"  she  anxiously  inquired. 

"Very  well  done.  Much  better  than  necessary,"  he 
replied. 

"How  better  than  necessary?"  she  asked. 

"The  letters,  especially  those  refusing  requests 
made,  are  needlessly  courteous  and  lengthy." 

"Oh,  Tudor!  But  when  you  are  obliged  to  disap- 
point people,  is  it  not  right  to  express  yourself  as 
kindly  and  politely  as  possible?" 

Lilith  made  a  more  careful  toilet,  perhaps,  than 
usual  for  the  public  hotel  dinner — putting  on  her  rich 
black  silk  dress,  trimmed  with  crape  and  jet,  with  a 
slender  jet  hair-band  on  her  black  ringlets,  and  a  jet 
necklace  and  jet  bracelets  on  her  fair  neck  and  arms. 

Tudor,  when  he  had  refreshed  his  toilet  a  little,  took 
her  down  to  the  dining-room,  where  all  the  guests  of 
the  house  were  assembled  or  assembling,  mostly  in 
full  dress. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hereward  were  met  by  one  of  the 
waiters,  who  escorted  them  to  a  vacant  table  and  gave 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  213 

them  two  seats,  which  were  henceforth  to  be  their 
own. 

During  that  long  and  tedious  dinner,  with  its  many 
and  slowly  served  courses,  Mr.  Hereward,  always  a 
conspicuous  figure  in  any  assembly,  and  his  young 
wife,  in  her  lovely,  childlike  beauty  and  her  deep 
mourning  dress,  gradually  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  people  within  their  line  of  view,  and  occasioned 
much  remark. 

"They  will  be  in  the  parlors  this  evening,  I  suppose. 
For  though  Hereward  has  not  honored  the  parlors 
much  of  late,  of  course  he  must  bring  his  wife  down. 
She  cannot  stay  in  her  room  forever." 

So  went  the  talk. 

But  Hereward  did  not  bring  his  wife  into  the  par- 
lors that  evening,  for  on  putting  the  question  to  her, 
slie  shrank  from  the  idea  of  entering  them  and  re- 
quested to  return  to  their  room. 

"For  I  know  you  have  work  to  do  that  will  keep  you 
up  half  the  night,  Tudor,  and  I  wish  to  help  you — to 
prove  to  you  how  much  I  can  help  you.  And,  Tudor,  if 
you  really  wish  to  make  me  happy,  you  will  let  me 
help  you  as  much  as  I  please,  for  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  I  like  to  do  so  well." 

The  protracted  dinner  was  at  an  end,  and  they  left 
the  table  and  turned  to  leave  the  room,  as  many  of 
their  fellow-guests  were  doing. 

On  their  way  down  the  long  dining-room  Mr.  Here- 
ward was  accosted  by  some  of  his  acquaintances. 

"Glad  to  see  you  back,  Hereward!"  exclaimed  a 
stout,  red-faced,  gray-haired,  soldierly-looking  old 
man. 

"Thank  you,  general.  I  am  glad  to  find  myself 
here,"  replied  the  young  man,  and  he  would  have 
passed  on  with  his  young  wife. 

"Mrs.  Hereward,  I  presume,"  said  the  general,  bow- 
ing politely,  and  not  to  be  balked  of  an  introduction. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Hereward — General  Abbotson,  my  dear." 
said  the  young  man,  going  through  the  presentation 
with  intentional  formality. 

The  parties  bowed  and  the  gallant  general  pro- 
fessed himself  as  honored  and  delighted. 

In  the  midst  of  his  compliments  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  coming  up  of  a  tall,  thin,  black-whiskered, 
grave-looking  gentleman  of  midde  age,  who  held  out 
his  hand  with  a — 

"How  do  you  do,  Hereward?  When  did  you 
arrive?" 

"Only  last  evening.  I  hope  you  are  recovering, 
senator." 

"Yes,  thank  you,  I  am  better." 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  present  you  to  my  wife? — 
Senator  Barminster,  my  dear." 

The  lady  and  gentleman  bowed. 

"Mr.  Hereward,  I  was  pleased  to  see  you  at  your 
post  this  morning.  We  cannot  spare  you  until  this 
question  of  the  new  tariff  shall  be  disposed  of,"  said 
a  rather  solemn-looking,  bald-headed,  round-bodied  old 
gentleman,  joining  the  group. 

"Thank  you,  judge.  Mrs.  Hereward — Judge  Bur- 
leigh,  my  dear." 

The  parties  bowed  in  recognition  of  this  introduc- 
tion, and  the  judge  was  addressing  some  words  of 
commonplace  compliment  to  the  little  lady,  when 
others  came  up,  and,  in  short,  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  before  Hereward  could  escape  from  his  friends, 
and  take  his  wife  up  to  her  room,  scarcely  knowing 
whether  he  was  pleased  or  displeased  at  the  sensa- 
tion caused  by  her  beauty — perhaps  a  little  of  both  on 
opposite  accounts. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-night,  Tudor?"  she 
inquired,  when  they  had  reached  their  apartment, 
which  was  no  longer  a  "den,"  but  had  been  turned 
by  her  taste  and  tidiness  into  a  "snuggery." 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  215 

"Look  over  these  letters  which  have  come  during 
the  day,  and  fix  some  for  you  to  answer  to-morrow." 

"Ah!  that  is  well." 

"There  are  but  few;  afterwards  I  must  work  at  my; 
speech  on  the  tariff." 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Tudor,  while  you  are  look- 
ing over  those  letters?" 

"Have  you  no  needlework?"  he  inquired,  without 
looking  up  from  his  employment  of  sorting  his  letters, 
separating  the  "wheat  from  the  chaff,"  so  to  speak. 

"No;  not  even  the  everlasting,  irrepressible,  in- 
evitable shirt-button  to  sew  on.  The  very  last  fugitive 
one  was  captured  and  secured  while  we  were  at  the 
Cliffs." 

"No  fancy-work?" 

"No — that  is,  yes — lots  of  beading,  braiding,  em- 
broidering, and  the  like.  But  I  do  not  mean  to  do 
'fancy'  work  when  I  see  you  at  real  work,  in  which 
I  can  help  you." 

Hereward  dropped  a  despised  letter  from  some  poor 
office-seeker  into  the  basket,  and  turned  to  look  wist- 
fully at  his  wife. 

No;  there  was  no  threat  of  future  rebellion  or  ob- 
stinacy in  that  upraised,  beaming  young  face.  But  he 
saw  that  she  was  really  eager  to  be  of  use,  and,  in- 
deed, he  was  in  need  of  her  help,  but  had  not  liked  to 
take  it ;  he  had  feared  to  weary  her. 

He  lifted  up  a  pile  of  manuscript  that  was  a  perfect 
labyrinth  of  interlineations,  erasions  and  interpola- 
tions. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  decipher  and  copy  this?"  he 
asked. 

"Well,"  she  said,  looking  at  it  critically,  "the  Egyp- 
tian hieroglyphics  might  be  easier,  but  I  like  to 
grapple  with  a  difficulty.  Yes,  I  will  take  this  task, 
if  you  please,  Tudor." 


216  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

And  neither  worker  spoke  to  the  other  until  ten 
o'clock,  when  Lilith  looked  up  and  said: 

"I  have  copied  all  that  you  have  given  me.  Have 
you  more?" 

Without  looking  up  from  his  absorbing  work,  he 
pushed  towards  her  half  a  dozen  more  pages  of  laby- 
rinthine hieroglyphics,  which  she  began  to  read  and 
copy  in  a  fair,  clear  text. 

When  she  had  got  through  with  these  she  did  not 
disturb  him  again,  but  quietly  took  up  the  two  or 
three  more  pages  that  he  had  laid  down.  And  after 
copying  them,  she  took  up  the  last  one  just  as  he  had 
laid  it  down,  and  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  have  got  through, 
Lilith?"  he  inquired,  as  he  looked  at  her  pile  of  fairly 
transcribed  manuscript. 

"All  but  this  last  half  page,  which  I  shall  finish  in 
a  few  minutes,"  she  replied,  driving  away  as  fast  as 
she  could  with  her  engrossing  pen. 

Tudor  Hereward  arose  and  walked  about  the  room, 
threw  up  the  window,  and  looked  out. 

"It  is  snowing,"  he  said,  as  he  lowered  the  sash 
again.  "The  ground  and  the  tops  of  the  houses  are 
quite  white." 

Lilith  did  not  reply  or  look  up. 

The  neighboring  church  clock  intoned  eleven. 

"There!  Put  up  your  work,  Lilith,  I  really  cannot 
allow  you  to  overtask  yourself,"  he  said,  moving  to 
her  side. 

"There,  it  is  done!  The  last  line,  word,  letter,  is 
written.  And  the  'great  speech'  is  ready  for  delivery," 
she  gayly  said,  as  she  arose  and  put  the  manuscript 
in  his  hands. 

"Thank  you,  Lilith,  thank  you,  dear  little  girl !  This 
is  very  clearly  written,  indeed.  It  is  as  easy  to  read 
as  good  print." 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  217 

"You  may  thank  my  trainer  for  that." 

"And  who  was  he,  or  she?  Your  school  writing 
master  or  mistress?" 

"Our  father.  When  I  copied  for  him  he  used  to  tell 
me  that  the  very  first  object  in  writing  was  to  be  read; 
and  that,  therefore,  the  text  should  be  very  clear. 
And  now,  I  think,  Tudor,  if  your  arguments  are  as 
clear  and  forcible  as  the  text  in  which  they  are  there 
inscribed,  the  new  tariff  bill  which  they  support  must 
pass,  and  by  a  large  majority — not  that  I  believe  in 
your  bill  myself,"  she  said,  shaking  her  black,  curly 
head  at  him. 

"What,  Lilith!  Have  you  an  opinion  on  this  sub- 
ject?" laughed  Hereward. 

"I  had  a  very  decided  one.  I  admit  that  your 
reasoning  has  just  shaken  my  faith  a  little." 

"And  what  were  those  opinions?"  he  inquired,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  amusing  himself  with  a  child. 

"I  consider  your  tariff  a  huge  national  selfishness!" 

"Lilith!  Did  you  get  that  opinion  from  my  father's 
teachings?" 

"Oh,  no!  He,  like  you,  was  a  protectionist.  We 
used  to  have  it  hot  and  heavy!  But  he  never  could 
convince  me  that  the  tariff  was  not  a  monstrous 
national  selfishness,  or  that  selfishness  was  any  better 
in  a  nation  than  in  an  individual." 

"Were  there  any  other  knotty  problems  in  politics 
that  you  and  my  father  discussed?" 

"And  differed  about?  Oh,  yes,  the  extradition 
treaty.  We  used  to  have  warm  debates  over  that! 
But  he  could  not  convince  me  that  a  fugitive  should 
not  have  some  place  of  the  Lord's  earth  where  he 
could  be  safe  from  pursuit." 

"There  should  be  no  foot  of  ground  on  earth  where 
a  criminal  should  be  safe  from  capture." 

"I  don't  know,  Tudor!  Cain,  the  first  murderer, 
fled.  He  was  not  pursued  and  brought  back.  In  the 


218  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

middle  ages  there  was  the  sanctuary  of  the  church. 
The  worst  criminal,  flying  to  the  altar  for  refuge,  was 
safe  from  the  highest  mortal  authority.  I  do  not  quite 
think  that  our  extradition  is  any  improvement  on  all 
that! — especially  in  the  light  of  Christian  charity." 

"Lilith,  you  talk  like  a  child,  my  dear!  Fugitives 
from  justice  should  be  caught  and  brought  back  even 
from  the  nethermost  parts  of  the  earth,  if  to  those 
regions  they  have  fled,"  said  Hereward,  with  stern 
gravity. 

"Suppose  a  man  should  be  wrongfully  accused, 
wrongfully  convicted  of  a  capital  crime,  wrongfully 
condemned  to  death,  and  should  make  his  escape,  and 
fly  hither  to  this  country  as  to  a  city  of  refuge.  How 
horrible  the  law  that  would  send  him — a  guiltless  man 
— back  to  die  a  felon's  death!"  exclaimed  Lilith,  in 
such  strong  emotion,  that  her  husband  looked  at  her 
more  intently  than  ever. 

"Lilith,"  he  said,  "you  must  not  let  your  feelings 
dominate  your  reason,  my  dear.  You  really  speak  as  if 
you  had  some  vital  personal  interest  in  this  question! 
As  if  some  one  very  near  and  dear  to  yourself  was  in 
this  case — a  fugitive  from  justice,  or  injustice,  as  you 
put  it!" 

Lilith  turned  her  head  away  to  hide  the  deadly  pale- 
ness that  came  like  a  cold  wave  over  her  face. 

Lilith  soon  recovered  from  her  temporary  distress, 
and  by  the  time  they  had  finished  supper  she  was  chat- 
ting and  smiling  as  before  the  subject  of  the  extradi- 
tion treaty  had  come  up  between  them. 

"I  have  a  prize  in  you,  my  little  girl!  I  have  a  price- 
less treasure  in  you!"  whispered  Tudor  Hereward,  as 
they  went  upstairs  together. 

Lilith  said  nothing.  She  was  thinking: — "If  it  were 
not  for  that  secret — oh,  that  secret,  which  I  am  keep- 
ing from  him! — from  him  who  keeps  no  secret  from 
me! — we  should  be  so  happy!  So  very  happy!" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  219 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

LILITH    AT    THE    CAPITOL 

"LILITH,  dear,"  said  Tudor  Hereward  to  his  young 
wife,  the  next  morning,  when  they  had  returned  to 
their  room  after  their  early  breakfast,  "the  day  is  so 
fine  and  the  walking  so  good,  for  the  snow  that  fell 
last  night  is  crisp  on  the  ground,  that  I  think  you 
should  go  out.  Suppose  you  put  on  your  wraps  and 
let  me  take  you  to  the  Capitol?" 

"But  the  letters  that  you  have  fixed  for  me  to  an- 
swer, Tudor?" 

"There  are  only  about  half  a  dozen.  They  can  be 
disposed  of  in  an  hour,  after  we  come  home  this 
evening." 

"Then  I  would  like  to  go,  thank  you,  Tudor." 

She  put  on  her  seal-skin  jacket  and  hat  and  drew  on 
her  black  kid  gloves,  and  they  went  downstairs  and 
left  the  hotel. 

This  was  the  first  time  in  which  Lilith  had  seen  the 
broad  avenue  by  daylight. 

"It  is  the  finest  avenue  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life; 
but  the  buildings  are  not  worthy  of  its  magnificent 
scope,"  said  Lilith. 

"Time  was,  in  the  early  days  of  the  city,  as  the  old 
inhabitants  tell,  when  this  avenue  at  this  season  was 
but  a  muddy  road,  flanked  by  a  few  scattered  and  ir- 
regular houses  of  wood,  or  red  brick,  and  of  only  one 
or  two  stories  in  height,  with  here  and  there,  at  long 
distances,  a  three-story  brick  that  looked  quite  mag- 
nificent by  contrast;  but  that  must  have  been  full  fifty 
years  ago.  Now  we  have  some  very  handsome  edi- 
fices," replied  Hereward. 

"But  still,  as  a  whole,  the  buildings  are  not  worthy 
of  the  magnificent  breadth  and  sweep  of  the  vista," 
persisted  Lilith. 


220  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

This  remark  brought  them  to  the  gates  of  the 
Capitol  grounds,  and  as  they  entered,  Hereward  was 
joined  by  several  Congressional  friends,  whom  he,  in 
turn,  introduced  to  his  young  wife. 

They  went  up  the  long,  weary  ascent  of  broad  stone 
steps  leading  from  terrace  to  terrace  till  they  reachr-d 
the  Capitol  building. 

Hereward  took  LiMth  into  the  handsome  library, 
found  her  a  seat  and  said: 

"Amuse  yourself  here  until  I  return.  I  have  to  go 
on  a  committee,  but  I  will  come  for  you  before  the 
house  meets  and  take  you  to  the  Ladies'  Gallery." 

And  he  went  away. 

Lilith  arose  and  went  to  one  of  the  tables  upon 
which  piles  of  large  illustrated  volumes  lay. 

She  sat  down  at  the  table  and  opened  one  of  the 
volumes. 

It  was  the  CLANS  OF  SCOTLAND,  richly  and  profusely 
illustrated  in  colors,  showing  in  the  most  brilliant 
hues  the  tartans  of  the  various  chiefs. 

This  so  absorbed  the  attention  of  the  young  lady 
that,  in  turning  page  after  page  and  comparing  one 
chieftain's  individuality  with  that  of  another,  and 
with  reading  the  letter-press  descriptions,  which  were 
interspersed  with  historical  notes  and  anecdotes,  Lilith 
forgot  the  passage  of  time,  until  she  felt  a  hand  laid 
on  her  bent  head  and  heard  a  voice  in  her  ear: 

"Lilith,  darling!  I  was  here  for  hours,  yesterday, 
hoping  that  you  might  chance  to  come  in,  as  every 
stranger  in  the  city  does." 

All  the  bright,  enthusiastic  interest  in  the  girl's  face 
faded  out,  leaving  it  pale  with  dread  at  the  sight  of 
the  dark,  handsome  visage  of  Mr.  Alfred  Ancijlon 
bending  over  her. 

"Oh,  why  do  you  seek  me  out?  Oh,  my  dear,  if  you 
knew  how  you  frighten  me,  how  you  endanger  and 
compromise  me,  you  would  not  do  it!  You  would 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

spare  me,"  she  breathed,  in  a  hurried,  anxious,  plead- 
ing tone. 

"Lilith,  my  child,  you  are  all  that  I  have  in  this 
world  to  care  for,  and  you  are  all  who  care  for  me. 
Have  you  no  natural  affection  for  me,  Lilith?  None, 
my  child,  none?"  he  pleaded,  fixing  on  her  those  large, 
dark,  unutterably  mournful  eyes  that  were  so  full  of 
piteous  prayer. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  have!  I  have!  Before  I  ever  saw  your 
face,  when  I  only  saw  your  picture,  my  heart  wa3 
instinctively  drawn  to  you.  And  when  I  learned  your 
tragic  story  from  those  old  letters  my  heart  ached, 
ached  for  you.  And  when,  later  on,  I  learned  all  that 
you  were  and  are  to  me,  I  found  full  warrant  and  jus- 
tification for  the  love  I  felt  and  the  pain  I  suffered. 
Oh,  yes,  dear,  I  have  natural  affection,  but  I  have 
duties  as  well — duties,  ah,  yes!  duties  that  are  incom- 
patible with  this  secret  that  I  am  keeping  from  my 
husband.  Oh,  my  dear,  this  secret  is  the  only  thorn 
in  a  very  flowery  path  of  life.  But  I  suppose  all  paths 
must  have  some  thorns,"  she  added,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"And  so  I  am  the  only  thorn  in  your  rosy  path,  eh, 
Lilith?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  not  you,  but  the  secret  I  am  keeping 
from  my  husband,  that  weighs  on  my  conscience  and 
warns  me  of  evil  to  come.  I  try  not  to  think  of  it. 
And  I  do  forget  it  when  I  am  at  work,"  she  said. 

"Lilith,  it  is  well  I  bound  you  by  a  solemn  oath  not 
to  reveal  this  secret,  or  your  tender  conscience,  your 
delicate  sense  of  duty,  would  lead  you  to  a  course  that 
would  send  me  back  to — " 

"Oh,  hush!  hush!  Your  words  stab  me.  No,  I 
would  never  betray  you.  Come  what  will  of  weal  or 
woe,  I  will  never  betray  your  secret.  But  oh!  what  a 
strait — "  she  suddenly  ceased,  as  if  feeling  as  if  it  were 
ungenerous  and  even  cruel  to  dwell  upon  the  pain- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

fully  false  position  in  which  his  misfortunes  had 
placed  her. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Hereward?  I  am  happy  to 
see  you  looking  so  well  this  morning." 

It  was  the  gray-haired  judge  whom  Hereward  had 
introduced  to  his  wife  on  the  preceding  evening,  who 
had  now  come  up  to  speak  to  her. 

Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  bowed  with  the  grace  that  was 
peculiar  to  him,  and  silently  left. 

"Thank  you,  judge;  I  hope  you  are  well,"  responded 
Lilith,  who  was  glad  of  the  relief  his  presence  gave 
her.. 

The  judge  bowed,  took  a  seat  at  the  table,  and  im- 
mediately entered  upon  the  small  talk  with  which  high 
official  dignitaries  in  Washington  refresh  themselves 
when  in  company  with  ladies  whom  they  suppose  to  be 
incapable  of  understanding  anything  better. 

But  when  he  found  that  Lilith  had  never  heard 
Patti  sing,  or  seen  Neilson  play,  or  read  Ginx's  Baby, 
or  attended  any  of  the  public  receptions,  and  in  con- 
sequence had  no  opinion  to  give  about  any  of  them, 
he  began  to  consider  Tudor  Hereward's  young  wife 
as  a  very  rustic  though  a  very,  very  pretty  little 
party. 

While  they  talked,  the  young  husband  himself  en- 
tered the  library,  and  came  up  to  them,  exchanged  a 
greeting  and  a  few  words  with  the  judge,  and  then 
took  the  arm  of  his  wife,  who  arose  to  join  him,  and 
conducted  her  through  all  the  lobbies,  halls  and  cor- 
ridors that  lay  between  the  Congressional  Library 
and  the  Ladies'  Gallery  of  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives. 

Here  he  found  her  a  comfortable  seat  in  the  front 
row,  and  then  he  left  her  and  went  down  to  take  his 
own  place  in  the  hall  below. 

Some  bill  relating  to  ports  and  harbors  was  before 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  223 

the  House,  and  a  heated  debate  ensued,  in  which 
Hereward  took  an  active  part. 

Lilith,  sitting  in  the  gallery,  which  was  now 
crowded  with  other  ladies,  soon  grew  so  accustomed 
to  the  new  scene  and  subdued  light  as  to  see  and 
hear  with  perfect  distinctness,  although  the  debate 
was  not  very  attractive  to  her.  She  was  not  interested 
in  ports  and  harbors.  Only  when  Hereward  spoke  did 
she  listen  attentively.  At  other  times,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  the  poor  child  was  bored  almost  to 
death,  and  wished  herself  anywhere  else  on  the  face 
of  this  weary  earth  than  in  the  Ladies'  Gallery  in  the 
House  of  Representatives  of  this  great  and  glorious 
Republic.  No  words  can  express  how  tediously  the 
hours  of  the  afternoon  passed. 

Lilith  registered  a  vow  that  she  would  never,  no, 
never,  enter  the  House  of  Representatives  again,  un- 
less it  should  be  some  occasion  when  Hereward  was 
to  present  a  bill  or  make  a  speech. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  there  was  a  lull  in 
the  storm  consequent  upon  the  temporary  withdrawal 
of  several  members  from  the  hall,  when  Hereward 
left  his  seat  and  came  up  into  the  Ladies'  Gallery  to 
speak  to  Lilith. 

"Are  you  tired  and  hungry,  dear?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  VERY,"  answered  Lilith,  with  emphatic  frank- 
ness. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  debate?" 

"I  hated  it!" 

"So  did  I.  Come,  dear,  we  will  go  downstairs  to  the 
restaurant  and  get  something  to  eat  and  drink.  I  see 
that  fasting  is  not  a  means  of  grace  with  you,  and  I 
know  it  is  not  with  me,"  he  said,  as  he  gave  her  his 
hand  to  assist  her  to  extricate  herself  from  the  laby- 
rinth of  fashionable  costumes  and  velvet-cushioned 
benches  in  which  she  had  got  involved. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

And  they  continued  their  way  down  to  the  saloon, 
where  they  partook  of  a  well  relished  dinner. 

"Now,  dear,  perhaps  you  would  rather  return  to  the 
hotel.  I  must  go  back  to  my  place;  but  I  can  take  you 
down  and  place  you  in  an  omnibus  first,  if  you  wish." 

"Oh,  no,  Tudor!  I  would  far  rather  walk,  if  you 
please,"  she  said. 

He  took  her  out  upon  the  western  terrace  and  down 
the  many  flights  of  broad  stone  steps,  from  terrace  to 
terrace,  and  along  the  avenue  to  the  west  gate,  where 
lie  was  to  leave  her. 

He  turned  to  walk  back  to  the  House,  and  she 
walked  on  up  Pennsylvania  Avenue. 

A  great  many  people,  drawn  out  by  the  fineness  of 
the  late  winter  afternoon,  were  on  the  sidewalks. 

On  reaching  her  room  at  the  hotel,  she  took  off  her 
wraps  and  put  them  away. 

Then,  as  it  was  growing  dusk,  she  lighted  her  lamp, 
placed  it  on  the  table,  and  sat  down  to  answer  those 
letters  that  Hereward  had  marked  for  her. 

It  took  her  but  little  more  than  an  hour  to  complete 
her  work.  Sitting  alone,  with  two  hours  to  wait  be- 
fore the  return  of  her  husband,  she  looked  around  the 
room  to  see  what  she  could  do  to  make  it  more  attrac- 
tive and  comfortable.  She  had  already  greatly  im- 
proved it,  by  reducing  it  to  order  and  tidiness. 

But  now  she  saw  much  more  that  might  be  done. 
And  she  took  pencil  and  paper  and  made  a  list  of 
articles  that  she  meant  to  go  out  and  purchase  the 
next  day. 

Lilith  had  a  small  hoard  of  money  of  her  own;  for 
her  beloved  foster-father,  even  in  his  tightest  straits, 
had  never  stinted  her,  or  even  allowed  her  to  know  of 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  denied  himself  for  her 
sake. 

Now  she  was  glad  of  this  money,  which  gave  her  the 
power  to  make  this  cheap  room  comfortable  and  at- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  225 

tractive  to  him  whose  well-being  she  valued  more  than 
her  own  life. 

All  that  the  loving  heart  could  suggest  that  could 
add  to  the  comfort  and  beauty  of  this  room,  without 
encumbering  it,  wras  thought  of  and  set  down. 

Some  might  ask:  'Why  could  not  the  young  wife 
have  turned  over  those  few  hundred  dollars  that  she 
had  saved  to  her  husband? 

Lilith  herself  had  wished  to  do  this,  but  she  dared 
not  try  it.  She  knew  that  Tudor  Hereward  would  no 
sooner  have  accepted  the  offer  of  her  little  fund — the 
gift  of  his  father — than  he  would  have  swindled  a 
baby.  His  pride  would,  or  at  least  might,  have  con- 
strued such  an  offer  into  an  offence. 

Lilith  had  just  finished  her  list  and  put  it  into  her 
pocket-book,  when  the  door  opened  and  Tudor  Here- 
ward  entered,  looking  so  tired  that  Lilith  wished  from 
her  heart  she  had  the  easy  resting-chair  and  the  ap- 
paratus for  making  him  a  quick  cup  of  the  good  tea 
that  he  liked  so  much,  and  that  she  was  determined 
to  have  the  next  day. 

"The  House  adjourned  earlier  than  you  expected? 
I  am  so  glad,  Tudor,"  she  said,  as  he  dropped  wearily 
into  the  wooden  arm-chair. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  reaching  out  his  hand  to  the 
letters  that  had  come  for  him  during  the  day;  "and 
here  is  work  enough  to  keep  me  busy  all  the  evening." 

"The  work  you  left  for  me  is  all  done,  Tudor,  and 
ready  for  your  signature,"  she  said,  blithely. 

"You  are  my  good  fairy,  darling,"  he  replied, 
earnestly  but  wearily,  as  he  took  up  the  pile  of  letters, 
and  began  to  glance  over  and  sign  them. 

"Not  a  word  to  alter  in  any  of  them,  Lilith,"  he  said, 
as  he  sealed  the  last  one.  "Now  these  are  ready  for 
the  mail." 

He  rang  and  dispatched  them  by  a  messenger,  and 
then  turned  to  the  new  letters. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

''If  you  mark  them  one  at  a  time,  and  give  them  to 
me  as  you  read  them,  I  can  answer  some  while  you  are 
examining  others,"  suggested  Lilith. 

"Very  well,  dear.  I  will  do  so,"  assented  Here- 
ward. 

And  working  so  in  unison,  they  got  through  their 
business  at  an  earlier  hour  than  on  the  preceding 
evening. 

They  went  down  and  took  supper  about  ten  o'clock, 
leaving  the  last  batch  of  letters  in  the  hotel  office,  to 
go  by  the  first  mail  the  next  day. 

The  next  morning  the  sun  rose  brilliantly  on  a  snow- 
clad,  frosted  city. 

"There  is  really  no  work  left  for  you  to  do  to-day, 
my  little  busy  bee!  How  shall  you  employ  or  amuse 
yourself  wThile  I  am  gone?  Or  would  you  like  to  go 
again  to  the  Capitol?"  inquired  Hereward,  when,  after 
they  had  breakfasted,  he  was  about  to  leave  the  hotel. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Tudor.  You  have  heard  my 
opinion  about  that.  I  do  not  mean  to  go  to  the  House 
again  until  your  bill  is  taken  up  and  I  go  to  hear  your 
great  speech,"  replied  Lilith. 

"Then  how  will  you  pass  the  time?" 

"Oh,  I  have  some  shopping  to  do  and  some  domestic 
matters  to  attend  to,"  replied  Lilith. 

Hereward  raised  his  brows  in  droll  helplessness. 

"Those  are  mysteries  that  I  cannot  pretend  to 
fathom,"  he  said,  with  a  serio-comic  air,  as  he  kissed 
her  good-bye  and  left  the  room. 

Soon  after  this,  Lilith  put  on  her  fur  hat  and  jacket, 
and  taking  her  portemonnaie  and  her  list,  she  went 
out  to  make  her  purchases. 

Midwinter  is  not  a  very  busy  time  with  upholsterers, 
so  that  Lilith  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  her  cur- 
tains made  up  and  her  resting-chair  and  hassock  made 
ready  and  put  in  place  by  the  stipulated  time. 

By  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  plain  little  room 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  227 

was  transfigured,  as  by  a  magician's  wand,  into  a 
beautiful  and  attractive  apartment,  whose  prevailing 
hue  was  a  rich  warm  crimson. 

And  Lilith  sat  down  in  the  glow,  to  wait  with  child- 
like impatience  for  the  return  of  Tudor. 

Hours  passed  and  Hereward  did  not  return. 

When  the  clock  struck  eight  Lilith  went  again  to 
the  window  to  look  out. 

The  electric  light  still  radiated  in  the  black  sky 
above  the  dome,  with  a  white  splendor  passing 
strange,  beautiful  and  suggestive. 

"The  House  is  still  in  session.  They  must  be  having 
a  heated  debate  or  a  long  speech.  I  hope  for  the  sake 
of  the  desks  it  is  a  long  speech,"  said  Lilith  to  herself 
as  she  turned  away  from  the  window  to — face  Tudor 
Hereward,  who  had  quietly  entered  the  room. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  little  start.  "I — 
thought —  Did  you  leave  before  the  House  ad- 
journed?" 

"No,  dear.  The  House  has  adjourned.  The  light 
that  you  were  watching  still  burns  for  the  Senate, 
which  is  still  in  session,"  replied  Hereward,  turning  to 
drop  into  his  customary  wooden  arm-chair,  but  find- 
ing a  handsome  and  most  comfortable  crimson  cush- 
ioned "sleepy  hollow"  ready  to  receive  his  wearied 
frame. 

He  dropped  into  it  without  a  word,  and  looked 
around  the  handsome,  cozy  room. 

Lilith,  smiling  and  delighted,  watched  him  in  his 
surprise  and  enjoyment. 

"What  fairy  has  been  at  work  here  to-day?"  he  in- 
quired, still  looking  round  to  note  all  the  changes. 

"No  fairy,  nothing  so  aerial;  but  only  your  little, 
homely  brownie,  Tudor,"  replied  Lilith,  in  delight. 

"My  darling,  how  did  you  manage  all  this?"  he  in- 
quired, in  perplexity. 

"I  had  some  funds  saved  up  from  the  allowance  our 


228  THE    UNLOVED    WIFE 

dear  father  used  to  make  me,  and  I  spent  a  small  por- 
tion of  them  on  these  comforts.  It  does  not  take  much 
to  make  a  room  like  this  comfortable,  Tudor." 

"And  you  spent  your  own  money — money  that  you 
might  have  spent  on  dress,  or  personal  adornings?" 

"Our  father's,  rather,  Tudor.  And  why  should  I 
save  it,  when  I  have  you  to  give  me  everything  I  want? 
I  shall  freely  ask  you  for  everything  I  want,  Tudor, 
from  a  hat  to  a  pair  of  boots,  for  I  know  that  you  will 
gladly  give  me  all  I  require,"  she  said,  as  she  went 
and  stood  at  his  side.  She  was  even  yet  too  shy  to 
kiss  him  of  her  own  accord,  but  she  laid  her  face 
against  his  cheek,  for  an  instant,  and  the  man's  heart 
responded,  and  he  drew  the  little  head  down  upon  his 
bosom  and  caressed  it  in  that  passion  of  pity  and 
tenderness  which  he  felt  for  her  because  he  could  not 
love  her  as  he  had  loved  the  woman  who,  as  compared 
to  her,  was  but  as  dross  to  refined  gold. 

"She  knows  no  difference,  poor  little  one,  and  if  I 
only  pet  her  a  little  and  permit  her  to  worship  me  a 
great  deal,  I  shall  make  her  perfectly  happy." 

All  these  thoughts  passed  swiftly  through  his  mind 
during  the  few  moments  that  he  held  her  head  upon 
his  bosom. 

"Are  you  very  tired,  Tudor?  But  I  see  you  are," 
she  said,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"I  am  resting  delightfully,  but  with  a  consciousness 
of  undeserved  happiness,  Lilith,"  he  answered, 
gravely. 

She  looked  puzzled,  but  presently  asked  him: 

"Will  you  go  down  to  dinner?  It  must  be  at  its 
height  now." 

"I  dined  at  the  Capitol  restaurant.  I  hope  that  you 
have  not  waited?" 

"Oh,  no;  that  is,  I  lunched  very  heartily  after  I 
came  in  from  my  shopping  expedition,  about  three 
o'clock,  and  so,  of  course,  I  could  not  eat  anything 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  229 

now.  But  I  know  what  to  do,"  she  said,  gayly,  as  she 
arose  and  went  to  work  over  a  little  gas-stove  and 
kettle. 

He  turned  to  his  letters  and  was  soon  absorbed  in 
the  business  of  reading  them,  and  separating  the 
wheat  from  the  chaff — the  letters  that  must  be  placed 
on  file  and  answered,  from  those  that  might  be  thrown 
into  the  waste-basket  and  forgotten. 

Presently  Lilith  brought  him  a  fragrant  cup  of  tea, 
in  a  fine  china  cup  and  saucer,  with  a  silver  tea  spoon. 

"Lilith,  darling!"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her,  as  he 
took  the  cup  from  her  hand. 

"I  know  your  thirst  for  really  good  tea,  Tudor,  and 
how  much  it  refreshes  you  while  you  are  at  work,  and 
I  know  that  we  cannot  get  good  tea  downstairs,"  she 
said,  standing  over  him. 

"This  is  delicious!  this  is  restorative!  The  elixir  of 
life,  my  Lilith!"  he  breathed,  with  satisfaction,  as  he 
drank  of  the  blessed  cup  that  "cheers  but  not 
inebriates." 

"Yes,  Tudor,  a  little  woman  must  keep  house  or  play 
at  keeping  house,  even  if  it  be  on  so  small  a  scale  as 
making  tea  for  her  husband  in  a  hotel  attic,"  said 
Lilith. 

"A  little  woman  like  you,  my  Lilith!  I  wonder  if 
you  know  yourself — if  you  realize  all  that  you  are. 
But  I  am  sure  you  do  not,"  he  said,  looking  wist- 
fully at  her.  . 

"I  know  that  I  wish  to  be  all  that  you  would  have 
me,  Tudor,"  she  answered,  as  she  quietly  took  his  cup 
and  refilled  it. 

"Little  one,  are  you  satisfied  with  me?  Am  I  all 
that  you  would  have  me  to  be? — to  yourself,  I  mean. 
Do  I  make  you  happy?"  he  inquired,  tenderly, 
anxiously. 

"Oh,  yes,  Tudor!"  she  said,  raising  her  truthful,  darts 
eyes  to  his.  "You  make  me  very,  very  happy." 


230  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

And  forgotten,  for  the  time  being,  was  the  secret 
that  was  the  only  shadow  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DRAWN   TO    THE    BRINK 

THE  eventful  day  came  at  last  when  the  bill  for  the 
establishment  of  the  new  tariff  was  to  be  taken  up  by 
the  House  of  Representatives,  and  the  Hon.  Tudor 
Hereward  was  to  deliver  his  speech  in  its  support. 

The  rumor  of  an  expected  speech  from  the  rising 
statesman  and  eloquent  orator  was  always  sure  to 
draw  a  crowd  to  the  Hall  of  Representatives. 

From  an  early  hour  the  hall  was  crowded  and  every 
seat  in  the  Ladies'  Gallery  was  filled. 

Lilith  was  there,  of  course.  Much  as  she  disliked 
the  crowded  galleries  and  the  noisy  debates,  she  was 
present  in  a  front  seat.  She  would  not  have  missed 
hearing  Tudor's  speech  on  any  account. 

She  listened  to  every  word  of  it,  and  although  the 
largeness  of  her  sympathies  made  her  differ,  at  heart, 
from  the  principles  it  supported,  yet  she  gloried  in  its 
power  and  triumphed  in  its  success — for  it  was  a  sig- 
nal success.  Late  that  evening,  when  the  vote  was 
taken,  the  bill  was  passed  by  an  overwhelming  ma- 
jority. 

That  evening,  after  the  young  pair  had  returned  to 
their  hotel  and  dined,  Tudor  took  Lilith  into  the 
ladies'  parlor. 

"You  have  been  here  a  week,  my  little  lady  love,  and 
have  never  spent  an  evening  with  the  guests  of  the 
house.  I  cannot  permit  you  to  immure  yourself  so 
entirely.  This  evening,  too,  some  friends  are  corning 
to  meet  me — " 

"To  congratulate  you,  Tudor?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  231 

"Well,  to  talk  with,  me,  at  all  events,  and  I  wish  to 
introduce  them  to  you — if  I  have  your  permission,  my 
lady." 

"  'Permission?'    Oh,  Tudor!" 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Hereward,"  he  answered,  with,  a 
sort  of  playful  gravity;  "I  should  never  present  any  of 
my  male  acquaintances  to  you  without  your  per- 
mission." 

"As  if  you  could  possibly  bring  any  one  to  me  to 
whom  I  could  possibly  object!  Will  you  now  take 
carte  Handle  to  bring  any  one  you  please  to  me, 
Tudor?" 

He  laughed  and  kissed  her  hand,  and  they  entered 
the  parlor. 

The  appearance  of  Hereward  seemed  the  signal  for 
the  approach  of  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances. 
Even  before  he  had  found  a  seat  for  Lilith,  and  while 
he  stood  with  her  hand  resting  on  his  arm  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  they  were  surrounded. 

It  was  an  ovation. 

The  forensic  success  of  the  afternoon  was  crowned 
by  the  social  triumph  of  the  evening. 

Lilith  in  her  plain,  simple  mourning  dress,  but  with 
her  dark  eyes  glowing  and  her  delicate  cheeks  flushing 
with  delight  in  the  honors  of  her  husband,  seemed 
more  beautiful  than  ever  in  the  sight  of  all. 

Hours  later,  when  the  young  couple  left  the  parlors 
and  went  up  to  their  own  room,  Hereward  asked  Lilith 
how  she  had  enjoyed  this,  the  first  evening  she  had 
spent  in  company. 

"Oh,  very,  very  much  indeed,  Tudor.  How  every 
one  lauded  your  speech!"  she  answered,  looking 
proudly  up  to  him. 

"  Yes — to  my  very  face !  Bather  embarrassing,  don't 
you  think,  little  lady?" 

"To  you,  I  suppose,  Tudor.    But  they  were  so  very 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

much  in  earnest!"  she  said,  her  lovely  face  beaming 
with  love  and  pride. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday. 

As  Tudor  Hereward  walked  down  the  avenue  his 
eyes  were  attracted  by  a  huge,  flaming  poster,  higher, 
broader  and  brighter  than  ever  a  poster  had  been  be- 
fore. 

However  his  eyes  might  have  been  "holden"  all  the 
week,  he  could  not  help  seeing  this  obtrusive  object, 
that  set  forth  that  this  Saturday  night  would  witness 
the  positively  last  appearance  of  the  world-renowned 
artist,  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon,  in  his  unrivaled  role  of 
Mazeppa,  or  the  Wild  Horse  of  Tartary. 

"  'Ancillon?'  Is  not  that  the  name  of  the  fellow 
that  was  playing  down  at  Frosthill  during  the  Christ- 
mas holidays,  and  who  afterwards  got  storm-bound  at 
the  Cliffs?'  Certainly." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  by  way  of  an  advertise- 
ment, eh,  Hereward?"  said  an  acquaintance,  joining 
him. 

"Almost  actionable  as  an  obstruction  of  the  high- 
way, I  should  think,"  laughed  Tudor. 

They  walked  on  together. 

"Have  you  seen  the  man  play?"  inquired  Evans. 

"I?  No!  I  did  not  even  know  of  such  an  actor  in 
the  city,"  truthfully  answered  Hereward. 

"Why,  he  has  been  here  playing  all  the  week.  And 
I  tell  you  he  is  worth  seeing.  He  is  really  a  fine  tragic 
actor  as  well  as  an  accomplished  equestrian;  has  gifts 
you  don't  often  see  combined  in  one  person.  That  is 
the  wonder  of  him.  You  had  better  go  and  see  him 
to-night,  Hereward.  It  is  your  last  chance." 

"Perhaps  I  will,  Evans." 

And  the  men  parted.  Evans  turned  north  to  go  to 
the  Baltimore  and  Ohio  Railway  depot,  to  meet  a  rela- 
tive who  was  coming  to  meet  him,  and  Hereward  con- 
tinued his  way  eastward  toward  the  Capitol.  He 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  233 

thought  of  what  he  had  just  heard,  and  of  what,  two 
weeks  before,  he  had  heard  in  the  railroad  car  on  his 
way  to  Frosthill,  and  the  longer  he  thought  of  these 
subjects  the  more  inclined  he  felt  to  go  to  the 
Varieties  and  see  this  Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon  for 
himself. 

Who  has  lived  long  in  this  world  of  vicissitudes, 
accidents,  catastrophes,  and  failed  to  recognize  the  ap- 
palling truth  that  men — even  good  and  true  men — 
often  walk  blindfold  along  the  very  brink  of  a  preci- 
pice hanging  over  the  gulf  of  perdition? 

What  demon  was  it  that  was  leading  Tudor  Here- 
ward  to  the  Varieties? 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

"THE  GREEN-EYED  MONSTER" 

THAT  Saturday  evening,  when  Tudor  Hereward 
found  himself  alone  with  his  young  wife  in  their  apart- 
ment after  dinner,  instead  of  sitting  down  to  his  cor- 
respondence, as  usual,  he  went  to  the  dressing  glass 
and  began  to  brush  his  hair. 

"Lilith,"  he  said,  without  looking  towards  her,  for 
he  was  still  busy  with  his  toilet,  "I  am  going  out  this 
evening.  Do  you  mind,  dear?" 

Lilith  did  mind — she  could  not  help  minding  that 
she  should  be  without  his  companionship  all  the  long 
winter  evening. 

"I  am  sure  I  ought  not  to  mind,  Tudor,  for  we  have 
been  here  almost  a  fortnight  and  you  have  never  left 
me  alone  for  a  single  evening. 

"Where  are  you  going  this  evening,  if  I  may  ask  the 
question?  to  a  political  caucus?  Don't  answer  if  you 
don't  like  to,"  she  said,  gayly. 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"I  have  no  secrets  from  you,  Lilith,  dear.  I  am 
going  to  the  theatre." 

She  winced  when  he  said  he  had  "no  secrets"  from 
her;  but  she  recovered  herself,  and  said: 

"Oh!  to  the  theatre.  I  thought  you  never  went  to 
such  places.  I  thought  you  rather  despised  such  en- 
tertainments as  mere  waste  of  time,"  she  smiled. 

"I  do  consider  them  waste  of  time,  and  never  go  to 
them,  as  a  rule;  but  rules,  you  know,  permit  excep- 
tions, and  I  have  been  persuaded  by  Evans,  of  the 
Reflector,  to  make  an  exception  to  my  rule  this  eve- 
ning, and  go  with  him  to  the  theatre  to  see  the  prodigy 
of  the  age,  or  some  such  miracle." 

"Oh!  to  see  the  great  Italian  in  some  Shakesperian 
role,  at  the  National  Theatre?" 

"No,  Lilith.  If  I  were  going  there  I  should  ask  you 
to  accompany  me;  but  I  am  going  where  I  cannot  take 
you." 

Lilith's  face  fell. 

"I  am  going  to  a  circus,  or  something  like  it;  a 
highly  sensational,  spectacular  drama,  entitled  Ma- 
zeppa,  or  the  Wild  Horse  of  Tartary,  founded  on  Lord 
Byron's  poem  of  the  same  name,  in  which  the  title 
r61e  is  to  be  played  by  Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon,  a 
celebrated  universal  genius,  if  we  are  to  believe  the 
handbills  and  posters.  But,  really,  he  is  said  by 
Evans,  the  dramatic  critic  of  the  Reflector,  and  by 
other  competent  judges,  to  be  quite  wonderful; 
equally  gifted  in  tragedy,  comedy,  opera  and  circus. 
So  I  have  been  prevailed  upon  to  go  and  see  this 
phenomenal  Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon." 

It  was  well  that  he  was  engaged  in  drawing  on  a 
very  tight  kid  glove,  and  so  was  not  looking  at  her 
when  he  spoke. 

She  made  no  reply.  She  had  gone  pale  as  death,  and 
was  looking  into  the  fire  as  she  stood  on  the  rug. 

"By  the  way,  he  is  the  same  fellow  who  was  playing 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  235 

down  at  Frosthill  when  that  young  cub,  Hilary,  came 
to  the  Cliffs  to  invite  you  to  go  and  see  him,  in  three 
characters  in  one  evening,  I  think  he  said.  You  have 
seen  him,  Lilith?" 

It  was  disingenuous  to  put  this  question  when  he 
knew  well  that  Lilith  had  seen  the  man;  but  doubtless 
he  believed  himself  justified  in  putting  it. 

Lilith  hesitated,  and  answered,  slowly: 

"I — have  never  seen  him  play.  I — have  seen  him, 
though.  He — was  storm-bound  for  a  week  at  the 
Cliffs,  as — you  may  have  heard,"  she  concluded,  com- 
manding her  voice  by  an  effort  greater  than  she  had 
ever  made,  or  ever  had  occasion  to  make  before. 

"Yes,  I  heard.  Not  a  very  fitting  person  to  be  your 
guest,  I  think;  but  then,  of  course,  being  a  storm- 
bound traveler,  you  could  not  turn  him  out  of  doors; 
and  being  a  white  man,  you  could  not  turn  him  over 
to  the  negro  servants  for  society  and  entertainment. 
You  could  not  help  yourself,  my  poor  little  Lilith,  and 
I  will  not  criticize  you.  But  what  sort  of  a  fellow  is 
this  Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon?  Of  what  age?  Of 
what  complexion?  Of  what  behavior?" 

"Oh,  he  was  a  man  of  middle  age — and  of  very  dark 
complexion — and  of  rather  odd  manners." 

"A  swarthy  old  man,  with  ill  manners.  Not  a 
gentleman,  in  fact,"  was  Hereward's  silent  and  most 
satisfactory  translation  of  his  young  wife's  descrip- 
tion. 

"Well,  good-night,  my  little  lady  love.  Amuse  your- 
self as  well  as  you  can  while  I  am  awray.  I  shall  return 
by  eleven.  And  I  shall  not  leave  you  alone  another 
evening  while  we  stay  in  Washington."  He  stooped, 
took  her  lovely  little  face  between  his  hands  and 
kissed  her,  seeing — without  seeing — how  pale  she  had 
grown. 

In  another  moment  he  had  gone. 

He  was  joined  by  Evans  in  the  reading-room,  and 


236  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

they  walked  up  the  avenue  and  entered  the  theatre 
together. 

Evans  had  secured  two  stalls  in  the  middle  of  tho 
first  row  of  orchestra  seats,  and  they  took  their  places 
just  as  the  music  ceased  and  the  curtain  rose,  dis- 
covering a  mediaeval  boudoir,  a  lady  and  a  page 
seated — she  on  a  cushioned  divan,  ho  on  a  rug  at  her 
feet.  She  was  young,  pretty,  r.nd  richly  dressed  in  the 
Polish  costume  of  the  period;  he  was  a  princely  youth 
seemingly  of  not  more  than  seventeen  or  eighteen 
years,  of  surpassing  beauty,  grace  and  elegance,  all 
enhanced  by  the  splendid  court  dress  of  the  royal 
pages. 

As  he  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  gracefully  reclining  lady 
he  held  a  book  open  on  his  knee;  but  he  was  not  then 
reading  to  his  fair  mistress;  his  glorious  eyes  were 
raised  to  hers  with  the  fire  of  adoring  worship. 

The  thunder  of  applause  with  which  the  scene  was 
greeted  surprised  Hereward  so  much  that  he  turned 
and  inquired  of  his  neighbor: 

"Evans,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  them?" 

"  'Matter!'  Why  they  go  mad  directly  they  see 
Ancillon." 

"Aneillon?    Where  is  Ancillon?" 

"Why  there,  before  your  eyes,  reading  poetry  to  the 
contessa." 

"That  Ancillon?  That  boy  Ancillon?  Why,  he  is  a 
mere  youth!" 

"He  is  young;  there  is  no  doubt  about  that.  And  as 
beautiful  as  Adonis,  or  Narcissus,  or  any  other  of  thp 
mythic  youths  and  lady-killers  whom  the  jealousy  of 
the  elder  gods  sacrificed." 

"And  she  told  me  he  was  an  elderly  man.  swarthy 
and  awkward!"  thought  Hereward,  unconsciously  dis- 
torting Lllith's  description  from  the  very  different 
words  that  she  had  used,  to  the  interpretation  tlui  t 
he  had  put  upon  them. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  237 

"And  this  is  no  stage  illusion,"  he  continued,  tortur- 
ing himself — "no  stage  art  that  undertakes  to  make 
an  old  fellow  young;  but  which  never  quite  succeeds. 
No,  I  have  too  good  sight,  and  sit  too  near,  to  be  de- 
ceived. Those  eyes  owe  nothing  to  art.  Those 
shadows  are  really  cast  by  the  long  eyelashes,  they 
are  not  smutches  of  charcoal.  No,  the  evidence  of  my 
senses  shows  me  plainly  that  this  man  whom  Lilith, 
whom  my  trusted  wife  told  me  wras  old  and  vulgar,  is 
really  young  and  elegant.  Nor  is  it  only  the  evidence 
of  my  own  senses  that  I  have.  The  negroes  at  the 
Cliffs  spoke  of  their  mistress'  guest,  in  their  peculiar 
phrase,  as  a  'young  youth.'  The  gossips  in  the  train 
spoke  of  him  as  a  'young  fellow.'  Good  Heaven !  could 
there  have  been  any  ground,  the  least  ground,  for  their 
slanders?  Oh,  Heaven!  if  Lilith  is  false  at  heart  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  trust  woman  again.  The 
thought!" 

"Here ward,  you  seem  quite  absorbed  in  this  scene. 
You  have  not  taken  your  eyes  off  Mazeppa  since  the 
curtain  rose.  What  do  you  think  of  him?  Did  I  ex- 
aggerate?" inquired  Evans,  breaking  in  upon  his  com- 
panion's reverie. 

"Don't  speak  to  me,  if  you  please,  Evans,"  replied 
Tudor. 

"Well,  I  won't  disturb  your  enjoyment  again.  They 
say  that  it  is  impossible  to  decide  in  what  role  this 
artist  excels;  but  I  think  the  part  in  which  he  really 
surpasses  himself  as  well  as  all  others,  is  that  of  the 
lover.  Why,  that  fellow's  eyes  and  voice  would 
beguile  a  Peri  out  of  Paradise!  Just  look  at  him 
now !" 

"Pray  do  not  talk  to  me,  Evans." 

"Well,  there,  I  have  done!  It  is  a  mistake  to  talk  to 
one  who  wants  to  listen,  and  who  is  so  interested  as 
you  are!"  assented  the  reporter,  who  subsided  into 
silence,  while  Hereward  relapsed  into  his  bitter 


238  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

reverie,  jealously  watching  the  graceful,  brilliant  page 
reclining  at  the  feet  of  the  countess,  gazing  up  into 
her  face,  and  pouring  all  the  ardor  and  eloquence  of 
youthful  love  through  the  dark  splendor  of  his  eyes. 

"I  wonder  how  they  passed  that  tete-d-tctc  week  at 
Cloud  Cliffs.  Did  he  sit  at  her  feet  and  read  poetry  to 
her,  in  that  rich,  melodious  voice  of  his?  Did  he  lift 
his  eyes  to  her  with  the  expression  that  burns  in  them 
now  for  the  count  palatine's  wife?" 

"Heavens  and  earth!  If  I  thought  so,  I  should  go 
mad!  Lilith  is  just  at  the  inexperienced,  romantic, 
sentimental  age  when  a  young  girl  is  most  easily  im- 
pressed by  beauty,  genius  and  poetry. 

"Great  heaven!  What  shall  I  do?  I  cannot  think 
Lilith  wilfully,  actually  unfaithful;  but  if  she  be  un- 
true in  heart,  as  her  deception  of  me  to-night  would 
lead  me  to  believe,  I  never  wish  to  see  her  face  again. 

"I  can  no  longer  confide  in  her  as  I  have  done;  but 
neither  will  I  condemn  her  until  further  evidence.  I 
will  never,  if  I  can  command  myself,  speak  to  her  of 
this  man  again.  But  I  will  watch  and  observe!  Mean- 
time, my  little  lady,  you  shall  be  my  private  secre- 
tary, since  you  like  the  office;  but  no  more  to  me  until 
this  cloud  which  your  deception  has  raised  about  us  is 
cleared  away." 

Hereward's  bitter  mental  monologue  was  inter- 
rupted by  a  startling  action  on  the  stage  before  him. 

The  lovers  were  surprised  at  their  tete-a-tete  by  the 
arrival  of  the  enraged  count  palatine  and  his  men-at- 
arms! 

A  terrific  scene  ensues. 

The  countess,  swooning,  is  carried  off  the  stage  by 
her  hastily  summoned  women. 

The  page,  surrounded  by  naked  steel  blades,  stands 
at  bay  and  defends  himself  like  a  young  hero.  How 
splendidly  he  fenced!  His  keen  blade,  flashing  here, 
there,  up,  down,  before,  behind,  everywhere,  with  the 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  239 

swiftness  of  lightning,  as  he  whirled  around,  parry- 
ing mortal  thrusts.  But  he  shows  signs  of  failing,  and 
the  voice  of  the  count  palatine  is  heard: 

"Do  not  slay  him.  Take  him  alive  and  bring  forth 
the  young  wild  horse  that  was  caught  but  yesterday. 
Bind  him  naked  on  that  wild  beast's  back  and  lash 
them  off  into  the  desert!" 

The  young  Achilles,  captured  and  bound,  is  brought 
to  the  front  and  the  curtain  drops. 

"Splendid  fellow!"  exclaimed  Evans,  as  thunders  of 
applause  rent  the  air,  and  cries  of — 

"Mazeppa!  Mazeppa!"  or — 

"Ancillon!  Ancillon!  Ancillon!"  became  so  fre- 
quent and  exciting  that  at  last  the  great  artist  stepped 
in  front  of  the  curtain,  made  a  most  graceful  and 
reverential  bow  and  retired  amid  reiterated  and  pro- 
longed acclamations. 

"Evans,  you  must  excuse  me!  I  have  had  enough 
of  this,  and  I  am  going  home,"  said  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Going  home!  Why,  are  you  not  well?"  inquired 
the  reporter. 

"Perfectly  well,  but  I  am  going.  Good-night, 
Evans,"  said  Hereward,  moving  to  leave  the  theatre. 

"But  stay.    The  last  act—" 

"I  know  the  end  of  the  story.  I  suppose  the  drama 
follows  the  poem.  The  young  Mazeppa  is  rescued  and 
adopted  by  the  Cossacks;  in  time  is  called  to  reign 
over  them;  finally,  at  the  head  of  his  savage  hordes, 
he  invades  the  dominions  of  the  count  palatine,  burns 
the  castle,  slays  its  lord,  and,  for  aught  we  know, 
carries  off  the  lady." 

He  walked  from  the  theatre  to  the  hotel,  looked  into 
the  reading-room  for  a  moment,  then  walked  into  the 
ladies'  parlor,  to  see  if  by  chance  Lilith  was  there, 
and  not  finding  her,  he  went  up  to  their  own  apart- 
ment and  quietly  opened  the  door. 

Lilith,  sitting  by  a  shaded  lamp  on  the  table,  with 


240  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

a  pretty  red  velvet-lined  work-box  open  before  her, 
and  a  little  piece  of  black  gauze  needie-work  in  her 
hands,  looked  too  serenely  happy  to  be  the  victim  of 
misplaced  or  sinful  affections. 

She  raised  her  head  as  Hereward  entered  the  room, 
and  her  happy  face  became  radiant  with  surprise  and 
delight. 

In  the  bright  atmosphere  of  her  smiling,  radiant 
welcome  the  dark  cloud  of  doubt  and  suspicion  seemed 
to  pass  away  from  his  mind — at  least  for  the  time. 

"Oh!  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  back,  Tudor!  But 
I  hope  you  did  not  return  before  the  performance  was 
over,  just  to  keep  me  company." 

"I  did  not  care  to  sit  out  the  play,"  he  answered. 
"You  know  I  really  do  not  care  for  such  entertain- 
ments," he  added  as  he  dropped  into  his  seat. 

He  did  not  intend  to  mention  the  name  of  Ancillon 
to  her  if  he  could  avoid  doing  so;  but  she  herself  was 
the  first  to  allude  to  the  actor. 

"You  did  not  find  the  artist  come  up  to  the  expec- 
tations raised  by  the  advertisements,  I  suppose,"  she 
said,  as  she  calmly  resumed  her  seat  and  her  work — 
for  the  "ice"  once  having  been  broken,  Lilith  could 
now  speak  of  Alfred  Ancillon  without  betraying 
emotion. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  found  him  very  superior  to  any- 
thing I  had  been  led  to  anticipate,"  replied  Tudor. 

"Indeed!"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  frank 
pleasure. 

"Yes;  for,  in  the  first  place,  the  theatre  in  which  he 
acts  and  the  florid  style  of  the  hand-bills  and  posters 
had  led  me  to  expect  nothing  better  than  a  jumble  of 
ranter,  singer  and  acrobat,  all  in  the  person  of  the 
lauded  artist  Ancillon.  And  I  found  a  most  accom- 
plished young  tragedian.  And  in  the  second  place, 
Lilith — will  you  look  at  me  for  a  moment?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  241 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  work,  and  fixed  them 
on  his  face  inquiringly. 

"In  the  second  place,  Lilith,  I  was  led  to  expect  an 
old,  sallow,  vulgar,  inade-up  actor.  And  I  found  a 
young,  handsome  and  accomplished  man — a  gentle- 
man, as  far  as  personal  appearance  and  manners  go 
to  make  one." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do  think  he  is  all  that  you  say,  except  in 
the  matter  of  age.  He  is  not  3Toung,  but  neither  is  he 
old  nor  vulgar.  Who  ever  could  have  told  you  that  he 
was  so?"  she  inquired,  in  such  evident  surprise  that 
Hereward  was,  to  use  a  vernacular  phrase,  "taken 
aback." 

"  'Who?'     Why,  you  yourself,  Lilith." 

"I?"  she  exclaimed,  in  innocent  wonder. 

"Yes,  yon.  You  told  me  to-night,  before  I  went  to 
the  theatre,  when  I  asked  you  about  his  age,  looks,  and 
so  on." 

"Oh,  no!  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken.  You  must 
have  widely  misunderstood  me.  I  do  not  remember  my 
precise  words,  but  they  must  have  been  ill  chosen, 
indeed,  to  have  been  capable  of  being  interpreted  as 
you  have  understood  them,"  said  Lilith,  so  warmly  and 
sincerely  that  Hereward  was  greatly  perplexed. 

"Give  me  your  idea  of  the  man  from  your  point  of 
view,"  he  said. 

"Then  I  think  that  he  is  about  thirty-eight  years 
old,  or  what  we  would  call  middle-aged;  he  has  a 
very  dark  but  clear  complexion,  and  very  fine  dark 
eyes  and  hair;  and  his  manners  are  odd,  or  what  you 
might  call  eccentric,  but  never,  never  ungentlemanly. 
He  is,  indeed,  much  more  cultivated  and  refined  than 
any  of  the  men  of  our  neighborhood." 

"You  say  that  he  is  thirty-eight  years  old.  Do  you 
call  that  middle-aged,  Lilith?"  ? 

"I  should  think  so.  And  a  little  more  than  middle- 
age.  I  call  thirty-five  middle-age,  because  it  is  just 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

half  of  seventy,  which,  according  to  the  Psalmist,  is 
the  natural  length  of  man's  life,"  said  the  girl  of 
seventeen,  confidently. 

"Humph!  He  does  not  look  near  the  age  of  thirty- 
eight,"  said  Tudor. 

"No,  indeed,  he  does  not.  His  very  slight  stature, 
his  boyish  countenance,  curling  black  hair,  and,  in 
fact,  his  whole  personal  appearance,  suggests  a  young 
man  not  more  than  twenty,"  said  Lilith  with  a  smile. 

"How  do  you  know  his  age,  Lilith?" 

"My  impression  is  that  he  himself  told  me,  though  I 
am  not  certain  that  he  did." 

"How  did  you  entertain  so  strange  a  guest?" 

"Oh,  I  gave  him  the  freedom  of  our  little  library, 
where  he  wrote,  and  no  doubt  dozed  a  little,  and 
yawned  a  great  deal." 

"And  you  gave  him  none  of  your  society?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  a  good  deal  of  it." 

"Oh!  And  how  did  he  entertain  you  on  such 
occasions?" 

"Sometimes  he  read  to  me." 

"What  did  he  read?" 

"Fine  passages  from  Shakespeare,  Milton,  Thomp- 
son's Seasons,  Cowper's  Task,  Goldsmith's  Deserted 
Village,  and  those  charming  old  dried  balsam  poets 
that  our  dear  father  taught  me  to  love  so  much. 
Tudor,  would  you  like  to  have  me  lay  aside  my  sew- 
ing and  help  you  to  answer  those  letters?  There  is 
a  great  pile  of  them  come  this  evening,"  she  inquired, 
half  rising  from  her  seat  to  close  her  work-box. 

"No,  no,  I  am  not  in  the  mood  to-night.  I  think  I 
will  go  down  into  the  smoking-room  and  take  a  cigar." 

"A  very  little  amusement  seems  to  unfit  you  for 
work,  Tudor,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"This  evening's  amusement  has,  at  any  rate,"  he 
replied,  as  he  left  the  room. 

"I  feel  so  relieved  now  that  I  am  able  to  speak  of 


THE  UNLOVED   WIFE 

him  without  betraying  any  emotion  that  might  en- 
danger my  secret,  or  indeed  without  feeling  any  pain- 
ful emotion.  But  there  is  little  to  fear  now.  This 
is  his  last  night.  To-morrow  he  leaves  Washington, 
en  route  for  California,  and  will  trouble  my  life  and 
imperil  his  own  no  more,  as  I  hope  and  believe,"  said 
Lilith,  as  she  gathered  up  her  sewing  and  put  it  away, 
and  began  to  prepare  a  pot  of  cocoa  over  her  gas- 
lamp. 

Meanwhile  Hereward  had  gone  downstairs,  lighted 
his  cigar  in  the  smoking-room,  and  strolled  out  into 
the  avenue  to  walk  up  and  down  the  sidewalk  to 
smoke  and  to  cool  his  heated  brain. 

His  interview  with  Lilith  had  shaken  his  doubts  of 
her,  but  had  perplexed  him  beyond  measure. 

He  could  not  sit  in  Lilith's  company,  look  in  her 
face,  and  retain  his  suspicions. 

But  when  he  came  away  from  her  and  lost  sight  of 
her,  his  doubts  returned  to  bewilder  his  reason. 

A  half-hour  later  he  returned  to  his  room,  partook 
of  the  cup  of  cocoa  that  Lilith  smilingly  offered  him, 
because  she  said  it  was  a  better  "night-cap"  than  tea, 
and  soon  after  retired  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   SHADOW  DARKENS 

MR.  ALFRED  ANCILLON  had  left  Washington  for  San 
Francisco,  and  a  new  prodigy  reigned  at  the  Varieties 
in  his  stead. 

Lilith  felt  very  much  relieved  by  his  departure,  and 
she  went  with  new  zest  to  the  work  that  made  her 
life's  happiness,  the  work  of  helping  her  husband  and 
materially  lightening  his  labors. 


244  THE    UNLOVED    WIFE 

But,  as  the  days  went  on,  she  began  to  realize  and 
lament  a  change  that  was  coming  over  Tudor.  He  was 
not  unkind  exactly;  but  he  was  graver,  silenter  and 
more  reserved  than  she  had  ever  known  him  to  be.  He 
never  jested  with  her  now,  never  called  her  pet  names, 
or  interested  himself  in  her  pursuits. 

One  day  when  he  seemed  even  more  than  usually 
grave  and  silent,  she  ventured  to  ask  him : 

"Tudor,  dear,  are  you  not  feeling  well?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  lifting  his  eyes,  with  a  sur- 
prised and  almost  displeased  expression. 

"Tudor,  are  there — have  you  any  business  anxieties 
or  troubles  in  which  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  you?"  she 
next  inquired. 

"No,  no,  Lilith,  thank  you,  none,"  he  replied,  with 
more  courtesy  than  kindness  in  his  look  and  tone,  as 
he  returned  to  the  perusal  of  his  correspondence. 

Lilith  suppressed  a  rising  sigh  as  she  resumed  her 
work  of  answering  the  letters  he  had  marked  for  her. 

Tudor  Hereward  was  indeed  just  then  a  most  un- 
happy man.  He  was  just  in  that  state  of  doubt  and 
uncertainty  in  which  he  could  do  nothing  to  relieve 
his  mind. 

"She  seems  to  love  me,"  he  said  to  himself;  "she 
seems  to  be  devoted  to  my  interests.  She  waits  on  me 
as  if  she  were  my  daughter  instead  of  my  wife.  She 
surely  does!  But  what  does  all  that  go  to  prove? 
Nothing,  or  worse  than  nothing!  It  may  be  that  she — 
knowing  that  her  heart  is  unfaithful  to  me — only  tries 
to  atone  by  her  actions  for  her  want  of  love!  And,  by 
my  life!  now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  have  not  I 
myself,  in  the  first  days  of  our  marriage,  caressed  her 
all  the  more  tenderly  and  compassionately  because  I 
felt  and  knew  there  was  no  love  in  my  heart  for  the 
child  who  had  been  forced  on  me  as  a  wife?  And 
now  she  is  doing  the  same  thing,  or  nearly  the  same 
thing,  with  less  excuse!  She  is  serving  me  like  a 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  245 

servant  to  atone  for  her  heart's  unfaithfulness!  I 
want  no  such  services,  Lilith,  my  lady!  I  do  not  think 
that  I  can  bring  myself  to  accept  them  much  longer!" 

So  Tudor  Hereward  tortured  himself.  And  though 
sometimes  in  Lilith's  presence  the  fires  of  jealousy 
burned  down,  they  never  burned  out,  but  smouldered 
on  continually,  ready  to  break  out  at  any  instant. 

And  Lilith,  feeling  the  change  that  she  could  not 
prevent  nor  understand,  began  to  lose  her  bright 
spirits  and  buoyant  health,  and  to  grow  pensive  and 
silent. 

All  the  people  in  the  house  noticed  this  decline  and 
commented  on  it  to  each  other. 

He  was  never  actually  unkind  to  Lilith,  but  he  was 
always  cool,  and  often  capricious  in  his  manner  to  her, 
in  correspondence  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  his  moods 
of  suspicion. 

Lilith,  deeply  perplexed  and  distressed  by  this 
change  in  Tudor,  suffered  all  the  more  intensely,  be- 
cause she  could t not  comprehend  it,  and  could  not  do 
anything  to  remedy  the  evil.  She  could  not  even 
question  him,  because  she  saw  that  questions  annoyed 
him,  without  eliciting  any  satisfactory  answer. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  a  man  of  Tudor  Here- 
ward's  exalted  intellect  should  permit  himself  and  his 
conduct  to  be  governed  by  his  moods.  But  all  who 
have  had  experience  in  human  nature  know  well 
that  the  men  who  command  armies,  or  lead  Senates, 
cannot  always  govern  their  own  spirits. 

Lilith's  health  and  strength  continued  to  fail  so 
visibly  that  Hereward,  despite  all  his  cruel  sus 
picions  of  her  faithfulness,  began  to  be  seriously 
uneasy. 

Suppose  he  had  been  unjust  to  her  all  this  time? 
Suppose  he  had  cruelly  wronged  her?  Suppose  she 
should  be  taken  from  him?  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
watched  her  one  evening,  while  she  was  seated  at  the 


246  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

table,  engaged  in  answering  the  letters  that  he  marked 
and  handed  to  her  from  time  to  time,  while  looking 
through  his  correspondence. 

In  this  better  mood  he  spoke  to  her  very  gently: 

"Lilith,  you  are  not  looking  well;  I  think  you  should 
have  medical  advice." 

"I  am  not  ill,  Tudor,"  she  replied,  looking  up  from 
her  work  with  a  smile. 

"Xo,  but  you  are  white,  thin  and  depressed;  I  often 
see  it;  you  stay  too  much  in  the  house;  you  have  too 
little  recreation,  Lilith;  we  must  go  out  more." 

i;I  really  do  not  care  to  go  out,  Tudor!  And  we 
have  a  great  dea^to  occupy  us  at  home." 

"You  do  not  care  to  go  out!  That  is  the  worst  of 
signs.  That  is  the  way  people  feel  when  they  stay 
indoors  until  they  grow  morbid.  We  must  reform  this 
habit  at  once.  To-morrow  evening  there  will  be  a  pub- 
lic reception  at  the  White  House.  We  will  attend  it. 
Put  aside  those  letters,  Lilith,  and  turn  your  thoughts 
to  your  toilet,  for  it  must  be  one  of  simple  elegance 
to  suit  the  style  of  your  very  youthful  beauty,"  he 
said,  more  affectionately  than  he  had  spoken  to  her 
for  many  days. 

She  was  so  deeply  moved  by  his  tender  tone  that  she 
would  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  wept  on 
his  bosom;  but  she  restrained  herself,  and  with  only  a 
gentle  smile  she  handed  him  the  letter  she  had  just 
finished,  and  said: 

"This  is  the  last,  Tudor,  unless  you  have  marked 
some  more  for  me." 

"No,  no  more  to-night,  Lilith,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
the  letter  and  noticed  the  bright  light  in  her  eyes  and 
the  fire  in  her  cheeks,  which  only  his  tender  words 
had  called  there,  although  they  looked  so  much  like 
fever — the  fatal  hectic  fever  that  he  remembered  so 
well  in  his  own  young  mother's  case. 

"Lilith,"  he  inquired,  with  more  anxiety  than  dis- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  247 

cretion,  as  she  resumed  her  seat,  "is  there  consump- 
tion in  your  family,  do  you  know?" 

She  looked  up  in  surprise  and  perplexity  as  if  in 
doubt,  before  she  replied: 

"I — I  really  don't  know,  Tudor.  I  have  had  no 
means  of  knowing,  you  remember. " 

Yes,  he  did  remember  what  his  own  dying  father 
had  told  him  of  the  death  of  Lilith's  parents:  the 
father  drowned  in  saving  his — Tudor's — life;  the 
mother  killed  by  the  shock.  The  child  Lilith  orphaned 
on  the  day  of  her  birth.  He  remembered  the  whole 
tragic  and  pathetic  story,  and  the  remembrance 
deepened  his  pity  for  Lilith. 

"Why  did  you  ask  me  if  there  was  consumption  in 
my  family,  Tudor,  dear?  Did  you  fear  it — for  me? 
You  need  not  do  so.  I  never  had  a  cough  in  all  my 
life,  and  there  is  really  nothing  the  matter  with  my 
health — nothing,"  she  said,  emphatically. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  dear.  And  I  do  be- 
lieve that  there  is  nothing  really  amiss  with  you  but 
want  of  rest  and  of  recreation;  and  these  you  shall 
surely  have." 

The  next  day,  following  out  his  resolution,  Here- 
ward  reminded  Lilith  that  they  were  to  go  to  the 
President's  reception  in  the  evening. 

She  replied  that  she  remembered  it  and  would  be 
ready. 

When  he  had  left  the  hotel  for  the  Capitol,  Lilith 
did  think  of  her  toilet  for  the  occasion,  feeling  more 
anxious  to  please  Tudor  by  her  appearance  than  to 
wrin  the  admiration  of  the  fashionable  world  at  the 
reception. 

She  had  a  very  narrow  field  of  choice  for  her  dress — 
black  or  white,  or  both  mixed. 

She  laid  out  her  best  black  dress — a  lustreless  silk 
trimmed  with  crape.  That  would  not  do  at  all  for  the 


248  THE    UNLOVED    WIFE 

occasion;  it  was  much  too  sombre — too  heavy;  Tudor 
would  not  like  it. 

For  a  moment  she  was  perplexity  embodied.  It  was 
her  very  best  dress.  She  had  no  other,  except  two 
very  plain  house  dresses  of  black  cashmere. 

Suddenly  her  face  brightened.  She  thought  of  her 
wedding  dress,  and  remembered  that  very  young 
people  in  mourning  might  wear  white  in  the  evening, 
if  they  avoided  colors  and  trimmed  the  white  with 
black. 

When  evening  came  and  she  was  dressed  for  the 
reception,  Tudor  involuntarily  looked  the  admiration 
that  he  did  not  otherwise  express. 

He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  took  her  down  to  the 
ladies'  parlor  to  wait  for  the  carriage  that  he  went 
to  order. 

There  were  very  few  ladies  in  the  parlor.  They  were 
mostly  in  their  chambers,  dressing  for  the  reception. 

Lilith,  however,  saw  a  Mrs.  Praed,  an  elderly  lady, 
who  always  spoke  affectionately  to  the  lonely  young 
creature,  and  she  went  and  seated  herself  beside  this 
fellow-boarder. 

"How  lovely  you  look,  my  dear!  How  beautiful 
your  dress  is!  The  combination  is  really  elegant,"  said 
Mrs.  Praed,  approvingly. 

"It  was  my  wedding  dress,"  said  Lilith,  simply.  "I 
took  off  the  white  flowers,  and  replaced  them  with 
these  black  cr£pe  lisse  bows." 

"Heavens,  my  dear!    You  surely  never  did  THAT!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Praed. 

"Yes,  why  not?"  inquired  Lilith,  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  who 
had  more  heart  than  brains,  "for  heaven's  sake,  go 
and  take  off  all  that  black  at  once!  Though  I  don't 
know  that  that  would  break  the  spell.  The  mischief 
is  done!  You  have  worn  it;  it  is  too  late,  I  fear.  Oh, 
child!" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  249 

"What  mischief  is  done,  Mrs.  Praed?" 

"Dear,  dear!  You  have  actually  put  mourning  trim- 
ming on  the  dress  you  were  married  in!" 

"Well,  but  I  am  in  mourning  for  my  dear  father." 

"That  makes  no  difference  in  what  you  have  done. 
Oh!  my  dear,  it  is  the  worst  luck  in  this  world!  It  is 
an  awful  sign  of  approaching  misfortune!  Do  run  and 
take  all  that  black  off  immediately." 

Lilith  half  despised  herself  for  the  thrill  of  supersti- 
tious dread  that  suddenly  shook  her  frame. 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  in  the  carriage, 
bowling  up  the  avenue  to  the  White  House. 

So  large  was  the  reception  that  evening,  and  so  long 
was  the  line  of  carriages,  reaching  from  far  down  the 
street  before  the  gates,  and  far  up  the  avenue  of  ap- 
proach to  the  house,  that  the  Herewards,  who  drew  up 
at  the  foot  of  the  line,  had  to  wait  ten  minutes  and 
creep  by  inches  before  they  passed  through  the  gate. 

It  was  a  very  severe  ordeal.  They  were  crushed 
through  the  halls,  crushed  through  their  respective 
dressing-rooms,  and  when  by  magic  they  met  again, 
they  were  crushed  into  the  reception-room  and  into 
the  presence  of  the  President  and  his  party. 

A  gentleman  in  an  elegant  court  dress  was  just 
making  his  bow  to  the  chief  magistrate. 

"He  is  very  handsome!  Who  is  he?"  whispered  a 
lady  to  her  companion,  both  standing  directly  in  front 
of  the  Herewards. 

"Oh,  he  is  Seiior  Don  Alphonzo  Mendoza  Leon-y- 

Zuniga,  the  nephew  of  the  P minister,"  whispered 

her  escort. 

At  the  same  moment  the  bowing  courtier  raised  his 
head  and  turned  to  leave  the  "presence,"  and  in  that 
moment,  to  their  amazement,  the  Herewards  recog- 
nized in  the  elegant  young  Spaniard  the  form  and  face 
of  the  strolling  player,  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon. 


250  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

CHAPTEK  XXVIII 

WRONGED   LOVE 

LILITH  grew  pale  and  faint,  and  spasmodically 
clasped  the  arm  of  her  husband.  He  looked  intently 
on  the  face  of  the  foreigner. 

For  an  instant,  against  all  probability,  both  the  hus- 
band and  the  wife  took  the  stranger  to  be  no  other 
than  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon. 

Hereward  turned  and  looked  sternly  into  the  face  of 
Lilith.  He  noticed  her  deep  disturbance,  her  pallor 
and  her  faintness,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  with  inward 
rage  as  he  muttered  to  himself: 

"Even  a  stranger's  accidental  likeness  to  the  man 
she — yes,  by  my  life!  the  man  she  loves — can  throw 
her  into  this  deep  emotion.  Heaven  and  earth!  why 
did  I  ever  marry  this  child?" 

He  had  no  more  time  for  jealous  self-torture.  The 
foreigner  had  passed  out;  the  people  behind  pushed 
them;  and  the  marshal  was  about  to  present  him— 

"Mr.  President — Mr.  Hereward." 

Tudor  Hereward  bowed  profoundly,  and  then  pre- 
sented his  wife  in  due  form. 

The  President  received  them,  as  he  received  all 
comers,  very  cordially,  shaking  hands  with  Hereward, 
addressing  a  few  words  of  courtesy  to  Lilith  and  then 
presenting  them  to  the  ladies  of  the  White  House  who 
were  with  him.  Graceful  bows  on  both  sides,  and  the 
short  ceremony  was  over. 

Still  pressed  on  by  the  throng  of  people  behind,  they 
passed  into  the  East  Room,  where,  indeed,  as  Tudor 
had  predicted,  they  had  more  space. 

A  very  fine  band,  stationed  somewhere  out  of  sight, 
was  playing  the  grand  spirit-stirring  Kaiser  March  of 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  251 

Wagner,  and  the  greater  portion  of  the  company  were 
promenading  in  a  circle  around  the  room. 

All  the  company  were  not  promenading,  however. 
Many  were  seated  on  the  sofas  and  chairs  ranged 
against  the  walls,  and  many  were  standing  in  groups, 
talking  fashion,  politics,  society  or  gossip. 

No  one  seemed  to  listen  to  the  grand  music. 

Hereward,  still  grim  as  the  Sphinx  with  the  thought 
of  Lilith's  agitation  at  the  sight  of  the  foreigner,  led 
his  young  wife  to  a  seat  on  an  unoccupied  sofa,  in  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  room. 

They  were  almost  immediately  surrounded. 

Political  friends  of  Hereward  came  up  to  con- 
gratulate him  on  the  effect  of  his  last  great  speech, 
and — perhaps — with  the  wish  to  be  introduced  to  his 
beautiful  wife. 

Tudor,  throwing  off  the  gloom  that  had  settled  on 
his  brow,  thanked  each  and  all  for  their  words,  and 
presented  them  in  turn  to  Mrs.  Hereward. 

A  gray-haired  senator  from  the  South — a  fine, 
courtly  old  gentleman,  of  stately  and  gracious  manner, 
and  with  the  pure  and  knightly  devotion  to  women 
that  savored  of  the  mediaeval  age — on  being  presented 
to  Hereward's  lovely  young  wife,  invited  her  to  join 
in  the  promenade,  and  with  a  smile,  she  arose  and 
took  his  arm,  for  she  had  been  pleased  and  attracted 
by  the  polished  grace  and  elegance  of  this  gentleman 
of  the  old  school. 

They  joined  the  promenaders.  He  talked  no  small 
talk  to  Lilith.  Looking  down  on  her  intellectual  and 
spiritual  face,  he  spoke  of  her  husband — of  his  genius, 
his  statecraft,  his  eloquence,  his  patriotism,  the  great 
promise  of  his  future — a  future  blended  with  the 
future  of  his  country. 

And  Lilith,  leaning  on  his  arm,  hanging  on  his 
words,  lifting  her  lovely  face  to  his,  her  starry  eyes 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

full  of  the  reverential  admiration  that  excellent  youth 
must  feel  for  honored  age,  listened  in  rapt  delight  to 
his  praises  of  Hereward. 

They  thus  formed  the  most  perfectly  beautiful  pic- 
ture of  youth  and  age. 

Hereward  scarcely  gave  any  attention  to  the  speech 
of  the  men  that  were  around  him,  often  answering 
their  questions  at  random.  He  was  watching  Senator 

—  and  Lilith  as  they  slowly  passed  and  repassed  be- 
fore him. 

"Ah!"  said  Hereward  to  himself.  "I  fear  she  is  a 
natural  coquette,  withal!  Just  to  see  how  she  basks 
in  that  Chesterfield's  admiration  and  flatteries!  Oh! 
why  did  I  ever  suffer  myself  to  be  persuaded,  even 
by  my  dying  father,  to  marry  a  child  I  never  loved — 
never  can  love — and  of  whose  parentage  and  heredi- 
tary traits  and  taints  I  knew  nothing?  What  shall  I 
do  with  her?  Well,  at  any  rate,  I  cannot  let  that  gay 
old  Lothario  pour  any  more  of  his  soft  nonsense  into 
her  vain  and  credulous  ears." 

And  with  this  resolve  Hereward  arose,  saw  a  lady 
of  his  acquaintance  sitting  alone,  went  up  to  her, 
bowed,  and  invited  her  to  join  the  promenade. 

She  arose,  placed  her  hand  in  his  arm,  and  per- 
mitted him  to  lead  her  away. 

But  they  did  not  immediately  join  the  promenaders, 
for  Hereward  waited  until  there  was  such  an  opening 
in  the  procession  as  to  allow  him  to  glide  in  with  his 
companion  just  behind  Senator and  Lilith.  Here- 
ward did  not  talk  to  his  companion;  he  listened  to  the 
talk  of  the  two  who  were  before  him;  and  this  is  what 
he  heard  for  his  pains.  The  senator  was  speaking,  and 
Tudor  caught  just  a  fragment  of  his  discourse: 

"An  illustrious  career,  my  dear  young  lady." 

"It  makes  me  so  happy  to  hear  you  say  this,  sena- 
tor," replied  Lilith,  beaming  up  to  the  speaker's  face. 

"I  have  really  more  faith  in  Mr.  Hereward — in  his 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  253 

moral  strength,  intellectual  power,  pure  patriotism, 
and,  above  all,  in  his  incorruptibility,  either  by  ambi- 
tion or  avarice — than  I  have  in  any  other  of  the  new 
men — thongh  I  have  much  faith  in  many  of  them," 
continued  the  aged  diplomat. 

"His  speech,  delivered  a  few  weeks  ago  on  the  new 
tariff,  was  a  masterpiece.  The  passage  of  the  bill  was 
largely  due  to  his  strong  arguments  and  his  eloquence 
in  advancing  them.  You  heard  that  speech?" 

"Yes,  senator." 

"And  you  thought,  no  doubt,  with  us  all,  that  it  was 
a  masterpiece?" 

"Yes;  but  I  should  not  be  sincere  if  I  should  leave 
you  to  suppose  that  I  assented  to  all  the  arguments 
advanced  by  Mr.  Hereward  in  favor  of  that  new 
.tariff,"  said  Lilith. 

"Ah!"  said  the  diplomat,  taken  a  little  by  surprise. 
"You  are,  then,  rather  an  advocate  for  free  trade  than 
for  a  protective  tariff." 

"I  hardly  understand  all  the  bearings  of  the  ques- 
tion. I  only  wish  to  be  truthful,  not  presumptuous," 
said  Lilith. 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  have  an  opinion  and 
a  very  decided  one,  as  I  can  easily  perceive.  Will  you 
not  give  me  'a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  you?'  " 
inquired  the  senator,  looking  gravely  and  respectfully 
down  on  the  little,  lovely  face. 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  can  give  you  a  reason,  sir — 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  we  of  this  country  are  so  rich 
and  prosperous  and  safe  a  people,  that  we  rest  on  a 
past  of  such  solid  foundation,  and  on  a  future  of  such 
assured  prosperity  and  progress  in  all  good  things, 
that  we  can  afford  to  be  generous,  as  it  is  our  bounden 
duty  to  be,  to  all  the  people  of  the  world's  less 
favored  nations.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  should  open 
our  markets  freely  to  the  industries  of  all  the  people 
of  all  nations  on  the  earth,  without  restriction  and 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

without  fear.  To  me  it  seems  that  this  highly-favored 
country  of  ours  is,  indeed,  the  material  New  Jeru- 
salem, given,  not  to  us  alone,  but  to  all  the  people 
of  the  earth.  But  pardon  me,  senator,  these  are  only 
the  impressions  of  an  inexperienced  country  girl." 

Was  the  venerable  diplomat  drawing  Lilith  out? 
Amusing  himself  with  her  naive  and  artless  thoughts? 
Hereward  inquired  of  himself,  as  he  listened  to  the 
continued  talk — the  senator  evidently  suggesting  and 
inspiring,  and  Lilith  freer,  more  earnest  and  enthu- 
siastic than  Hereward  had  ever  known  her  to  be. 
From  the  discussion  of  the  new  tariff  they  drifted  to 
that  of  the  extension  of  the  extradition  treaties,  which 
was  now  the  subject  of  debate  in  many  political  and 
diplomatic  circles. 

And  the  old  statesman  smiled  when  his  earnest 
young  companion  said: 

"It  seems  too  savage,  too  barbarous,  too  unchris- 
tianlike  to  hunt  a  fellow-creature  all  over  the  earth 
to  haul  him  back  to  prison  or  to  death.  Now  if  a 
criminal  flies  the  land  he  has  injured  by  his  crime — 
let  him  go.  In  the  middle  ages  the  church  was  the 
sanctuary — he  who  fled  to  the  altar,  ay,  though  he 
were  the  blackest  of  criminals,  without  a  friend  in  all 
the  world,  and  with  all  the  powers  and  principalities 
of  the  earth  against  him,  yet  he  was  safe  in  the  shelter 
of  the  church.  So  justice  in  the  darkest  age  was 
tempered  with  mercy." 

"Yes,  my  dear  young  lady,  because  it  was  in  the 
darkest  age.  But  we  believe  that  a  criminal  should 
never  be  allowed  to  escape  justice;  but  that  the  whole 
world  should  be  in  league  to  hunt  him  down  and  give 
him  up  to  suffer  the  penalties  of  his  crime;  and  this 
is  an  enlightened  age." 

"Is  this  an  enlightened  age,  senator?  Are  we  really 
a  civilized  people?"  wistfully  inquired  Lilith. 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  255 

"My  dear  young  lady!"  said  the  diplomat,  in  sur- 
prise. Are  we  not  so?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  that  we  are  not.  Sometimes  I 
fancy  that  the  people  of  the  future — the  people  of,  let 
us  say,  A.  D.  2000 — may  look  back  upon  this  nineteenth 
century  as  a  very  dark  age  indeed!  a  very  picturesque 
and  romantic  period,  with  very  dark  shadows  and  very 
tragic  scenes  in  its  history,  and  that  children  will  read 
with  wonder  and  curiosity  how  in  this  dark  nineteenth 
century,  nations  had  still  to  keep  standing  armies  and 
navies  for  protection  against  each  other,  and  how 
towns  and  cities  had  to  support  constabulary  forces 
to  keep  peace  and  order  between  friends  and  neigh- 
bors. It  seems  to  me  that  while  we  are  making  such 
amazing  progress  in  arts  and  sciences  and  in  all  the 
appliances  of  comfort,  convenience,  luxury  and  ele- 
gance, we  are  growing  more  and  more  selfish  and  self- 
absorbed,  more  thoroughly  armed  for  attack  and  de- 
fence. And  individual  selfishness  seems  to  have  con- 
gregated and  consolidated  into  national  selfishness. 
Witness  those  two  bills  over  which  the  House  has 
been  quarreling  for  the  last  month." 

"What  does  my  friend  Hereward  say  to  these 
opinions  of  yours,  my  dear  young  lady?" 

"He — "  said  Lilith,  while  a  bright  blush  and  a 
bright  smile  lighted  up  her  lovely  face — "he  says  that 
I  am  a  child — an  ignorant  and  inexperienced  child, 
whose  opinions  are  based  on  feeling  and  not  on  rea- 
son; and  this  may  be  true.  But,  senator,"  she  said, 
looking  deferentially  up  into  his  fine  old  face,  "you 
are  very  indulgent  to  let  me  talk  so  freely  of  subjects 
on  which  I  have  had  no  experience  and  can  have  but 
little  knowledge." 

"I  have  listened  to  you  with  interest  and  pleasure, 
my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  as  he 
gently  caressed  the  little  white-gloved  hand  that  lay 
upon  his  sleeve. 


256  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

Hereward,  hearing  all  this  talk,  heard  no  word  of 
the  "soft  nonsense"  he  had  predicted — no  word  of 
flattery  or  of  compliment  from  the  old  statesman  to 
the  young  lady.  When,  therefore,  Lilith's  face  had 
lighted  up  with  pleasure,  it  was  not  at  praises  ad- 
dressed to  herself,  but  of  him,  her  husband!  And  all 
the  subsequent  talk  had  been  of  political  subjects 
only. 

"I  must  not  fatigue  you,"  said  the  old  senator  to  his 
young  partner,  as  he  left  the  line  and  led  her  back  to 
her  husband,  bowed  with  stately  courtesy  and  walked 
away. 

Lilith  was  glad  to  be  beside  Hereward  again.  She 
took  her  seat  with  a  smile  and  looked  in  his  face.  But 
his  dark  mood  had  not  passed  away.  Certainly  he  had 
not  convicted  his  young  wife  of  "flirting"  with  the  old 
senator. 

The  two  happened  to  be  seated  alone  on  a  short 
corner  sofa,  and  no  one  was  very  near  them  at  the 
moment.  So  Lilith  said  to  him: 

"You  should  have  heard  how  highly  Senator  

spoke  of  your  last  speech,  Tudor.  And  his  opinion 
must  be  worth  more  than  that  of  any  other  man  in 
Congress,  I  should  judge." 

"You  are  not  capable  of  judging,  Lilith,  and  you 
should  not  venture  to  speak  of  matters  beyond  your 
comprehension.  I  did  hear  what  the  senator  was  good 
enough  to  say  of  my  efforts  and  of  other  matters;  and 
I  also  heard  your  immature  opinions  upon  questions 
that  have  confounded  the  wisest  philosophers.  You 
should  not  presume  to  give  opinions  upon  matters  so 
far  beyond  your  comprehension,"  Hereward  coldly  re- 
plied. 

Lilith  blushed  crimson  over  face  and  neck;  but  re- 
covered herself,  and  gently  replied: 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Tudor,  but  I  must  have  been 
either  insincere  or  rude  not  to  have  done  so;  especially 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  257 

when  the  senator  was  so  kind  as  to  inquire  my 
sentiments." 

"  'Sentiments!'  There  you  have  used  the  right 
word,  my  dear.  Your  young  'opinions'  are  no  more 
than  sentiments.  And  the  world  is  not  governed  by 
sentiment." 

Lilith  had  very  little  self-love  to  be  wounded,  else 
surely  she  must  have  been  deeply  humiliated  by  this 
contemptuous  criticism.  Yet  she  felt  hurt. 

Lilith  could  not  know  that  Tudor  Hereward's 
thoughts  and  feelings  towards  her  were  all  affected  by 
his  want  of  love  for  her  and  trust  in  her. 

Lilith  was  innocent  of  this  knowledge.  Tudor  was 
her  mentor,  and  his  criticism  had — not  wounded  the 
self-esteem  that  she  did  not  possess — but  filled  her 
with  a  paralyzing  self  doubt. 

Silence  had  fallen  between  the  pair,  when  a  small 
group  of  acquaintances  drifted  towards  them.  In  this 
group  was  Judge  Stretton,  who  was  talking  earnestly 

with  that  young  foreigner — nephew  of  the  P 

minister — who  bore  so  startling  a  likeness  to  Mr. 
Alfred  Ancillon,  the  universal  stage  genius. 

Judge  Stretton  stopped  and  gayly  saluted  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Here  ward,  with  both  of  whom  he  was  well  ac- 
quainted, and  then  he  begged  permission  to  present 
his  friend,  Seuor  Don  Alphonzo  Mendoza-Leon-y- 
Zuniga,  of  P . 

The  stranger  made  a  profound  bow,  which  was 
stiffly  returned  by  Mr.  Hereward,  who  was  covertly 
watching  to  see  how  Lilith  would  receive  the  Seuor, 
who,  on  being  presented  to  the  young  beauty,  made 
even  a  more  profound  obeisance,  which  Lilith  returned 
with  a  smile  and  a  graceful  inclination  of  her  head, 
while  her  color  came  and  went,  and  a  slight  tremor 
shook  her  frame. 

Nothing  of  all  this  escaped  the  eyes  of  Tudor  Here- 
ward,  not  even  the  almost  imperceptible  start  with 


258  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

which  the  stranger  first  met  her  eyes — and  which 
looked  to  those  jaundiced  orbs  like  a  surprised  recogni- 
tion. 

Yet  it  could  not  be  possible  these  two  had  ever  met 
before,  he  thought. 

Was  it  quite  impossible  that  the  elegant  youth, 
whom  he  had  seen  in  the  character  of  Mazeppa  and 
under  the  name  of  Alfred  Ancillon,  should  be  in  fact 
the  young  Senor  Don  Alphonzo  Mendoza-Leon-y- 

Zuniga,  nephew  to  the  P minister?  Had  he  not 

really  gone  to  California,  as  had  been  announced,  but 
had  he  returned  like  the  Prodigal  Son  to  his  father, 
or,  for  wrant  of  a  father,  to  his  uncle? 

It  might  be  so.  This  supposititious  case  was  not 
without  parallels  in  life. 

Did  Lilith  know  of  all  this? 

The  gossip  at  Frosthill  had  said  that  she  had  met 
this  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  somewhere  in  the  North 
while  making  a  summer  tour  with  her  foster-father — 
though  how  they  could  have  known  that  fact,  if  it  was 
a  fact,  seemed  a  mystery. 

But  had  she  ever  met  him  before?  And,  if  so,  had 
she  met  him  under  any  other  name  than  that  of  An- 
cillon— if  he  had  any  other? 

And  Hereward  drew  his  own  conclusions. 

But  only  for  a  few  moments  did  the  knight  thus 
bow  before  the  lady. 

With  a  profound  obeisance  to  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hereward  he  soon  glided  away. 

The  reception  was  at  its  height.  But  still  the  East 
Room  was  not  crowded.  Although  a  stream  of  new 
arrivals  entered  at  one  door,  another  stream  of  early 
departures  went  out  through  another. 

"Have  you  had  enough  of  this,  Lilith?"  inquired 
Mr.  Hereward,  somewhat  coldly. 

"Yes,  Tudor,"  replied  the  young  wife,  wearily,  as 
she  arose  and  took  his  offered  arm. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  259 

He  led  her  down  the  steps  and  placed  her  in  her 
seat,  entered  and  sat  down  by  her  side.  The  carriage 
immediately  rolled  off. 

Since  leaving  the  East  Room,  Hereward  had  not 
spoken  one  word  to  his  young  wife. 

She  felt  the  silence  oppressive,  and,  child-like,  broke 
at  a  venture: 

"Have  you  enjoyed  the  evening,  Tudor?"  she  in- 
quired. 

"Not  this  evening  very  particularly,"  he  answered, 
in  a  voice  so  cold  as  to  chill  her  into  silence  that  lasted 
all  through  the  ride  and  all  through  the  evening  as 
well. 

It  was  half-past  twelve  when  they  reached  their 
hotel. 

Tudor  had  not  spoken  again  and  Lilith  dared  not  do 
so.  Thus  for  the  first  time  in  their  short  married  life, 
the  newly  married  pair  retired  without  even  bidding 
good-night  to  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   STORM   GATHERS 

Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead. 

— Longfellow. 

THE  next  day,  and  for  many  days  after  the  eventful 
evening  of  the  President's  reception,  Tudor  Hereward 
scarcely  spoke  to  his  young  wife,  except  to  ask  some 
necessary  question  or  to  give  some  order,  and  then  he 
addressed  her  in  the  fewest  words  and  in  the  coldest 
tones. 

Lilith,  depressed  and  intimidated  by  his  forbidding 


260  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

manner,  never  ventured  to  utter  a  word  except  in 
reply  to  him. 

He  no  longer  permitted  her  to  assist  him  in  his  cor- 
respondence or  any  other  business,  and,  in  truth,  he 
no  longer  needed  her  services  as  he  had  done;  for  his 
work  was  not  now  nearly  so  pressing  as  it  had  been 
in  the  early  weeks  of  the  session. 

One  morning,  when  he  was  about  to  leave  their 
room  and  go  to  the  Capitol  for  the  whole  day,  she  took 
heart  of  grace  and  stood  before  him,  looked  up  in  his 
face  with  her  honest,  loving,  dark  eyes,  and  put  the 
direct  question: 

"Tudor,  have  I  offended  you  in  any  way?  Are  you 
angry  with  me?" 

He  looked  down  on  her  with  cold,  steel-gray  eyes 
and  answered: 

"Angry  with  you?  Angry  with  a  midge?  You  do 
yourself  too  much  honor,"  and  he  turned  away  con- 
temptuously and  left  her  standing  there,  wounded  to 
the  very  soul. 

Women  so  wronged,  so  insulted,  so  outraged  by 
those  the}7  love,  and  having  no  others  in  the  world  to 
soothe,  comfort  or  advise  them,  have  been  driven  to 
desperate  deeds — deeds  of  madness. 

Lilith  felt  the  temptation  in  all  its  terrible  strength; 
but  she  did  not  for  one  moment  dream  of  yielding  to 
it.  Lilith,  young  as  she  was,  scarcely  past  childhood, 
had  already  learned  the  difficult  lesson  of  self-con- 
trol. 

She  stood  quite  still  for  a  few  minutes,  then  locked 
her  chamber  and  went  and  kneeled  down  beside  her 
bed,  and  with  meek,  child-like  faith,  sought  help  and 
guidance  where  prayer  was  never  yet  offered  in  vain. 

She  arose  calmed  and  strengthened.  She  felt  that 
she  must  not  sit  still  in  her  room  all  day  and  brood. 
She  must  go  out  and  do  something — do  some  good 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  261 

thing,  relieve  some  distress,  help  some  one  who  needed 
help. 

She  put  on  her  sealskin  jacket  and  hat,  took  her 
little  satchel  and  went  out. 

She  had  a  very  definite  plan  in  her  mind.  She 
walked  to  the  Rectory  of  Trinity  Church,  the  church 
in  which  she  attended  divine  service,  and  sent  in  her 
card  to  the  rector. 

She  was  immediately  shown  into  the  study  and  cor- 
dially received. 

"How  can  I  be  so  happy  as  to  serve  you,  my  dear 
lady?"  kindly  inquired  Dr. . 

"By  directing  me  in  some  work  that  I  wish  to  set 
about,  if  you  please,  doctor." 

"Ah — ah!"  murmured  the  rector,  a  little  doubtfully, 

"It  is  not  much  that  I  require  of  you,  sir,"  said 
Lilith,  "only  this:  I  have  some  means  and  a  vast  deal 
of  leisure  time  at  my  disposal,  that  I  do  not  know  what 
to  do  with.  I  think  it  is  wrong  that  both  should  be 
wasted.  I  only  wish  you  to  give  me  a  list  of  such 
worthy  objects  of  charity  as  you  may  know,  that  I 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  relieving  them." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Hereward,  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  is  not 
many  young  persons  living  at  a  fashionable  hotel  in 
this  gay  capital  who  would  choose  to  devote  their 
spare  time  and  means  to  works  of  charity.  Certainly 
I  will  give  you  all  the  help  in  your  good  work  that  I 
can.  Shall  I  give  you  one  or  two  cases  for  to-day?" 

"If  you  please,  doctor." 

The  list  was  made  out  and  handed  over,  and  Lilith, 
with  thanks,  took  leave. 

All  that  day  she  spent  in  going  from  hovel  to  tene- 
ment, and  from  tenement  to  hovel,  witnessing  such 
scenes  of  misery  as  she  had  never  even  dreamed  of  in 
her  happy  country  home;  and  forgetting  all  her  own 
troubles,  she  experienced  something  like  the  hap- 
piness of  angels  in  ministering  to  the  poor,  relieving 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  distressed  and  changing  tears  and  murmurs  into 
smiles  and  thanksgivings. 

"What  has  the  gay  world  to  give  me  in  exchange 
for  the  happiness  I  have  had  to-day,  in  making  others 
happy?''  she  said,  as  at  last  she  turned  her  steps 
towards  her  hotel. 

It  had  come  on  to  rain,  in  one  of  those  sudden 
showers  so  frequent  in  the  early  spring  of  our  climate. 

Lilith  had  brought  no  umbrella  or  waterproof,  so 
she  was  scudding  along  the  avenue,  as  fast  as  she 
could  go,  to  get  in  before  the  rain,  which  was  only 
drizzling  now,  should  come  down  in  a  flood;  when  a 
step  came  to  her  side,  an  umbrella  over  her  head,  and 
a  voice  in  her  ear,  saying: 

"Permit  me,  sefiora."  Lilith  slackened  her  speed, 
and — still  happy  in  the  happiness  she  had  given — 
— beamed  on  the  young  foreigner,  thanked  him  for  the 
shelter  of  his  umbrella  and  without  hesitation  ac- 
cepted the  support  of  his  arm. 

They  walked  on  towards  the  hotel,  and  had  just 
reached  it,  when  Tudor  Hereward  stepped  dowrn  from 
the  piazza,  hoisted  his  own  umbrella  and  met  his 
wife. 

The  young  foreigner  bowed  and  smiled  as  he  yielded 
up  his  charge  to  her  rightful  owner. 

Mr.  Hereward  coldly  thanked  him  for  his  courtesy 
and  led  Lilith  up  to  their  own  apartment. 

As  soon  as  they  had  reached  it  and  he  had  shut  the 
door,  he  turned  upon  her  with  a  brow  as  black  as  a 
thunder  cloud  and  demanded: 

"Where  have  you  been?  How  came  that  man  in 
your  company?" 

Lilith  dropped  into  her  chair,  all  the  bright  glow 
dying  out  of  her  face  and  leaving  it  pale  as  death. 

"I  ask  you  where  you  have  been,  and  how  that  man 
came  to  be  with  you?"  he  demanded,  more  sharply, 
because  she  had  hesitated  to  answer. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  263 

"I  have  been  to  see — some  poor  people — who  were 

recommended  to  me  by  Dr. .  I  was  caught  in  the 

rain  coming  home,  and  Seiior  Alphonzo  saw  me,  I  sup- 
pose, for  he  came  up  from  behind  and  put  his  umbrella 
over  my  head,  and  was  very  kind  and  courteous.  This 
was  only  about  five  minutes  before  we  reached  the 
hotel,  Tudor,"  she  said,  in  a  cowering  tone. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  with  scornful  incredulity. 

"Tudor!  I  hope  you  do  not  doubt  my  word.  I  am 
sure  no  one  ever  doubted  me  before.  But  if  you  do, 

you  can  easily  satisfy  yourself.  You  can  ask  Dr. 

about  the  people  he  sent  me  to  see  to-day;  and  you  can 
follow  in  my  footsteps  and  ascertain  for  yourself 
whether  I  really  went  to  see  them  or  not." 

"Can  you  really  believe  that  I  could  go  through  the 
city  asking  questions  about  my  wife?"  he  bitterly 
demanded. 

"No,  no;  of  course  not.  I  did  not  mean  that;  but 
you  could  find  out  without  putting  a  question,"  she 
pleaded. 

After  this  it  pleased  Tudor  Hereward  that  his  lovely 
young  wife  should  go  more  into  society  than  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  do,  and  to  please  him  she  accepted 
every  invitation  to  parties,  save  those  of  which  dan- 
cing formed  part  of  the  evening's  entertainment. 
These  she  declined  on  the  ground  of  being  in  deep 
mourning. 

And  everywhere  she  was  particularly  sought  out  by 
Seiior  Alphonzo,  who  always  gave  her  as  much  of  his 
society  and  attentions  as  circumstances  permitted  him 
to  do. 

And  still  Tudor  Hereward  was  haunted  by  a  sus- 
picion that  Seiior  Alphonzo  and  Monsieur  Alfred  An- 
cillon  were  one  and  the  same  person,  and  nothing  but 
his  respect  for  the  convenances  of  good  society  pre- 
vented him  from  putting  an  abrupt  stop  to  all  ac- 
quaintance between  Lilith  and  the  senor. 


264  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

One  day  he  put  an  abrupt  question  to  her,  and 
watched  her  face  as  she  replied  to  it. 

"Lilith,  had  you  ever  met  Senor  Alphonzo  before 
he  was  presented  to  us  at  the  President's  reception?" 

"Never,"  replied  the  young  wife.  "Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"  'For  the  satisfaction  of  my  thought/  "  he  quoted ; 
and  no  more  was  said. 

Still  he  could  not  banish  his  suspicion  that  SeSor 
Alphonzo  and  Monsieur  Ancillon  were  identical,  and 
that  Lilith  knew  it,  until  one  day,  on  picking  up  one 
of  the  morning  papers,  under  the  heading  of  MUSICAL 
AND  DRAMATIC,  he  read  the  following  note: 

"Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon,  whose  rendition  of 
Mazeppa  in  this  city  some  weeks  since,  will  be  remem- 
bered by  our  play-going  community  as  one  of  the 
finest  pieces  of  the  dramatic  art  ever  witnessed,  is 
now  winning  fresh  laurels  and — in  more  than  one 
sense  of  the  word — 'golden  opinions'  from  all  sorts  of 
people  in  the  Golden  State.  Mr.  Ancillon  expects  to 
sail  early  next  month  for  Australia,  where  he  proposes 
to  spend  a  year." 

"Ah,  then,  after  all,  startling  as  is  the  likeness, 
there  is  no  longer  any  question  that  they  are  two 
men,"  said  Tudor  Hereward,  following  out  his 
thought: 

"However,  I  am  glad  the  fellow  is  going  to  the  an- 
tipodes, and  I  heartily  wish  that  he  may  stay  there," 
he  continued,  mentally. 

But  still  his  jealousy  of  the  seiior  did  not  abate. 

"Why  does  Lilith  tolerate  the  monkey?"  he  asked 
himself.  "Is  it  for  his  likeness  to  Ancillon,  or  is  it  for 
himself  alone?  Has  he  supplanted  monsieur  and  suc- 
ceeded him  in  my  lady's  fickle  fancy?  I  will  find  out." 

One  day  he  broached  the  subject  to  his  young  wife. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  265 

"Lilith,"  he  said,  "I  think  you  told  me  that  you  had 
never  met  Sefior  Don  Alphonzo  Mendoza-Leon-y- 
Zuniga  until  he  was  introduced  to  us  on  the  occasion 
of  our  first  visit  to  the  White  House?" 

"Yes,  Tudor,  I  told  you  so,"  replied  Lilith,  wonder- 
ing. 

"And  you  never  had  seen  him  before?" 

"Certainly  not,  since  I  told  you  so,  Tudor,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  certain  gentle  dignity. 

"Then  why,  may  I  ask  you,  Lilith,  did  you  feel  and 
betray  so  much  emotion  at  the  sight  of  this  man, 
whom  you  persist  in  saying  that  you  had  never  met 
before?"  he  demanded,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  troubled 
face — for  she  was  always  troubled  now  whenever 
Hereward  spoke  of  the  young  foreigner. 

"Did  I?    Did  I,  Tudor?"  she  inquired,  in  distress. 

"You  did.  And  I  ask  you  now — what  I  have  a  right 
to  ask — why  you  betrayed  so  much  emotion  at  the 
sight  of  this  man,  whom  you  say  you  never  saw 
before?" 

"Oh,"  said  the  young  wife,  beginning  to  tremble  and 
turn  pale,  "I  think  it  was  because — because — " 

"Of  his  likeness  to  Monsieur  Ancillon?"  sternly  de- 
manded Hereward. 

"Yes,"  said  Lilith,  in  an  almost  expiring  voice. 

"That  is  enough,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

TUDOR  HEREWARD'S  RESOLVE 

"IT  is  enough,"  repeated  Tudor  Hereward;  and  no 
words  can  express  the  grimness  of  his  look  or  the  in- 
tensity of  his  suppressed  rage,  as  he  took  his  hat  and 
left  the  room. 


266  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"What  have  I  done?  Oh,  what  have  I  done  to  lose 
my  husband's  esteem  and  affection?"  said  Lilith  to 
herself,  as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  "I  have  tried  my  best  to  de- 
serve both.  It  was  my  heart's  dearest  wish  to  be  of 
service  to  him,  my  soul's  ambition  to  become  neces- 
sary, and  even,  if  possible,  indispensable  to  him.  And 
now,  now!  He  is  so  changed!  so  changed!  He  is 
angry  with  me — suspicious  of  me.  He  will  not  let 
me  help  him  any  longer.  Nothing  that  I  do  or  leave 
undone  seems  right  in  his  sight.  Oh!  if  I  had  any 
good  and  wise  friend  with  whom  to  take  counsel! 
What  can  have  caused  this  change?  It  is  not  the 
secret — the  secret  which  is  not  mine  to  tell,  but  which 
I  must  continue  to  keep  from  him — oh!  how  unwill- 
ingly! No,  it  is  not  the  secret,  for  he  does  not  even 
suspect  that  I  have  one.  Let  me  see!  Let  me  look 
back!  When  did  this  frost  that  has  blighted  our 
peace  set  in?  It  was  on  the  evening  of  his  visit  to 
the  Varieties,  to  see  Monsieur  Ancillon  in  his  great 
character  of  Mazeppa.  He  came  home  and  questioned 
me  closely  about  Monsieur  Ancillon,  his  storm-bound 
stay  at  the  Cliffs,  his  age,  his  looks,  our  occupations 
and  amusements,  and — from  that  evening  began  the 
change!  And  now — good  heavens!"  exclaimed  the 
young  wife,  as  the  truth  suddenly  broke  on  her — broke 
over  her  and  suffused  face,  neck  and  bosom  with  burn- 
ing blushes  for  the  perception  that  she  would  not  even 
put  in  words — scarcely  in  thought — that  her  husband 
was  jealous  of  Alfred  Ancillon! 

Never  in  her  life  before  could  Lilith,  in  her  high, 
serene  purity  of  soul,  have  imagined  such  a  depth  of 
humiliation  as  she  suffered  now. 

"Oh!"  she  murmured,  pressing  her  hands  together, 
in  the  intense  distress  she  felt;  "oh,  that  my  dear  fos- 
ter-father, Tudor's  father,  were  but  living!  He  would 
never  dream  of  such  an  impossibility  as  any  doubt  of 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  267 

his  child's  love  and  faith  of  heart  and  life!  But,  then, 
he  knew  me  so  well  that  he  could  never  be  mistaken 
in  me." 

While  Lilith  was  grieving  over  her  husband's  in- 
fatuation, he,  Tudor  Hereward,  had  walked  rapidly 
down  the  avenue  to  the  Capitol  Park,  which  was  at 
this  hour  deserted  except  by  the  night  watch. 

Turning  into  one  of  the  walks  where  he  felt  rea- 
sonably sure  of  being  alone,  he  sauntered  on,  rumina- 
ting over  the  misfortune  that  had  made  him  the  hus- 
band of  Lilith  Wyvil. 

"Better — far  better  that  I  had  been  left  to  drown, 
that  then  and  there  I  should  have  perished,  rather 
than  that  my  life  should  have  been  saved  at  such  a 
cost!  The  cost  of  two  lives  laid  down  for  mine,  and 
the  greater  cost  of  my  own  life-long  penalty  in  paying 
that  sacred  debt!  What  did  I  know  of  this  girl  whom 
I  married?  Nothing,  or  next  to  nothing! 

"Not  that  I  believe  for  an  instant  that  Lilith,  in  all 
her  weakness  and  folly,  could  wrong  me  in  the  gravest 
sense  of  that  word!  But  she  has,  through  her  fancy, 
vanity  and  imagination,  allowed  her  affections  to  stray 
towards  this  young  player! — living  out  her  hereditary 
plebeian  instincts!  Why,  she  cannot  even  meet  a  man 
in  society  who  may  happen  to  look  like  this  Ancillon — 
curse  him — without  betraying  herself! 

"But  I  must  prevent  that.  I  must  take  her  down 
into  the  country.  She  will  be  safe  now  at  the  Cliffs. 
Ancillon  is  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  is  likely  to  stay 
for  a  while,  and  then  to  sail  for  Australia." 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  Tudor  Hereward 
turned  to  retrace  his  steps  to  his  hotel. 

He  hurried  to  his  hotel,  and  went  upstairs  to  his 
room. 

He  found  Lilith  still  seated  in  the  arm-chair  where 
he  had  left  her,  but  looking  paler,  wearier  and  more 
listless  than  she  had  ever  been. 


268  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Lilith,"  lie  said,  throwing  himself  into  another 
chair,  "I  wish  you  to  pack  a  valise  with  what  is  neces- 
sary for  you  and  myself  on  the  journey.  We  leave 
here  for  West  Virginia  by  the  nine  o'clock  train  to- 
morrow morning." 

"We  leave  here! — to-morrow  morning!"  exclaimed 
Lilith,  almost  breathless  with  surprise  at  this  sudden 
announcement. 

"Yes,"  was  the  curt  answer. 

"But,  can  you — can  you  be  spared  from  your  seat, 
Tudor,"  she  hesitatingly  inquired. 

"At  this  juncture,  I  can." 

"And — you  said  West  Virginia!  Are  you  going  to 
Frosthill?— to  Cloud  Cliffs?" 

"Yes;  if  you  have  no  objection." 

"Oh,  no,  Tudor.  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go.  How 
long  shall  we  stay?" 

"I  shall  stay  but  one  night.  You  will  remain  there 
for  the  present." 

"You — you  mean  to  take  me  there  and  leave  me, 
Tudor?"  she  inquired,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"Decidedly,  yes,  I  do.  I  think  the  air  of  the  city 
unhealthy  for  you;  the  seclusion  of  the  country  suits 
you  best." 

She  arose  and  went  about  her  little  task  of  packing 
a  valise  with  what  was  most  necessary  for  their 
journey. 

"You  need  not  take  much.  I  shall  only  want  a 
change,  and  you  but  little  more,  for  I  shall  send  your 
trunks  after  you.  All  I  want  now  is  to  take  you  away 
from  the  city  as  soon  as  possible,"  he  said,  coldly  and 
hardly. 

She  stood  beside  the  open  valise  and  looked  at  him 
with  her  dark  eyes  full  of  trouble. 

Then  suddenly  she  went  to  him,  dropped  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  said: 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  269 

"Oh,  Tudor!  do  not  send  me  a  way  from  you!  Ob, 
Tudor!  there  is  not  one  pulse  in  my  heart  that  is  not 
true  to  you!" 

"Rather  mortifying  that  my  wife  should  think  it 
necessary  to  tell  me  that  she  is  honest,"  sneered  the 
angry  and  jealous  husband. 

"Tudor!  Tudor!  how  have  I  been  so  unfortunate  as 
to  have  displeased  you?  Oh!  tell  me,  Tudor!  Tell 
me!  Tell  me  how  I  have  offended  you,"  she  pleaded. 

He  repelled  her  caress,  and  answered,  coldly: 

"I  will  not.  Listen  to  me,  Lilith,  and  mark  what  I 
say:  The  hour  in  which  I  shall  find  it  necessary  to 
accuse  you,  will  be  the  hour  in  which  we  part  forever! 
So  pray  take  heed  to  yourself,  my  lady." 

She  raised  her  eyes  in  sorrowful  amazement,  and 
then  without  a  word  went  from  his  side  and  resumed 
her  packing. 

Nor  was  another  syllable  spoken  between  the 
estranged  pair  that  night. 

Early  the  next  morning  they  left  Washington  by  the 
nine  o'clock  train  for  West  Virginia. 

It  was  a  fine  day  in  the  early  spring,  yet  there  were 
but  few  travelers  on  the  train. 

The  slow  hours  of  the  journey  passed  almost  in  total 
silence  between  the  pair. 

When  at  one  o'clock  the  train  reached  "Morgan's 
Station,"  where  ten  minutes'  stop  was  allowed  for 
refreshments,  Hereward  spoke  for  the  first  time  to 
Lilith. 

"Will  you  come  out  and  have  something?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Tudor,"  she  replied,  in  a  low, 
tremulous  tone  that  she  could  scarcely  command. 

He  did  not  press  the  question,  but  left  the  train, 
with  other  passengers,  and  went  into  "Morgan's  Re- 
freshment Saloons,"  which  in  the  old  staging  days 
used  to  be  "Morgan's  Tavern." 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  all  the  passengers  had 


270  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

again  taken  their  seats,  Hereward  drew  a  fresh  packet 
of  tablets  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  make  notes 
for  some  forthcoming  debate  or  speech  in  the  House, 
of  course.  And  at  this  work,  writing  slowly  and  with 
many  pauses  for  reflection,  he  continued  until  six 
o'clock,  when  the  shrill  warning  whistle  blew,  and  the 
train  "slowed"  and  ran  into  the  Frosthill  station. 

They  had  to  wait  only  a  few  moments.  The  one  car- 
riage from  the  hotel  which  was  usually  on  hand  to 
meet  the  incoming  train,  now  drove  up  to  the  station, 
a  few  minutes  later  than  ordinarily. 

Hereward  signaled  Lilith  to  come  out  of  the  wait- 
ing-room, and  when  she  did  so  he  put  her  into  the 
carriage,  followed  and  seated  himself  by  her  side,  and 
ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  out  to  Cloud  Cliffs. 

The  sun  had  set;  the  angry  red  clouds  were  heaped 
mountain  high  on  the  western  horizon;  the  wind  was 
blowing  a  gale;  the  weather  had  become  severely  cold. 

Hereward,  turning  to  his  companion,  tucked  her  fur- 
lined  mantle  closely  about  her,  and  pulled  down  the 
curtains  on  her  side  to  keep  out  all  the  draught. 

Lilith,  encouraged  by  this  little  show  of  attention, 
ventured  a  remark: 

"They  will  be  very  much  surprised  to  see  us  at  the 
Cliffs  to-night,  Tudor." 

"I  suppose  so.  It  is  well  to  take  those  who  are 
intrusted  with  our  interests  by  surprise  sometimes. 
We  may  be  surprised  in  our  turn,"  he  answered, 
coldly. 

"Oh,  I  do  not  think  so  in  this  case,  Tudor.  Our 
servants  are  so  faithful,"  said  Lilith. 

He  made  no  reply  to  this  and  she  was  chilled  into 
silence  again. 

They  were  entering  the  long  road  through  the 
woods,  leafless  and  spectral  in  the  March  night. 

The  drive  continued  in  darkness  and  silence  for 
more  than  an  hour  before  thev  turned  into  the  lodge 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  271 

gate.    In  a  few  minutes  they  drew  up  before  the  house. 

It  was  closed,  silent,  dark  and  deserted — at  least 
to  all  appearance. 

The  driver  jumped  down  from  his  box,  opened  the 
carriage  door  and  said: 

"Marster,  I  doan  see  any  lights  nor  likewise  any- 
body about.  Hadn'  I  better  go  roun'  de  back  an'  see 
ef  I  can  fine  any  ob  de  colored  people  to  come  open 
de  do'  fo'  you  an'  de  young  mist'ess?" 

"Yes,  Phipps,  do  so,"  replied  Hereward,  abruptly 
closing  the  carriage  door  to  keep  out  the  sharpness  of 
the  wind. 

The  man  seemed  to  have  been  gone  but  a  few 
moments  when  footsteps  and  lights  were  heard  and 
seen,  in  a  hurly-burly  of  excitement,  coming  through 
the  house,  the  hall  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Nancy, 
with  all  the  household  servants  at  her  back,  ran  out 
to  welcome  her  master  and  her  mistress. 

Hereward  had  lifted  Lilith  out,  and  paid  and  dis- 
charged the  carriage,  which  rolled  rapidly  away. 

"Come  in,  honey.  You's  mos'  frozen.  I's  mighty 
proud  to  see  yer  bofe.  But  w'y  de  name  ob  sense  didn' 
yer  sen'  me  word  yer  was  comin',  so  I  might  hab  fires 
kindle'  in  all  de  fireplaces,  an'  de  rooms  dried  an'  aired 
for  yer?  Dat's  wot  I  want  to  know  now,"  said  Nancy, 
as  she  escorted  her  young  mistress  into  the  cold,  damp, 
musty-smelling  hall. 

"Mr.  Hereward  made  up  his  mind  quite  suddenly  to 
come  down.  There  was  no  time  to  write,"  gently  re- 
plied Lilith. 

"Oh,  Lor'!  'Deed  it'll  kill  yer,  ef  yer  stay  yere.  Bet- 
ter come  in  de  kitchen  long  ob  me,  till  Alick  make  up 
de  fires!  Marse  Tudor,  w'y  in  de  name  o'  sense,  didn' 
yer  write  or  teleg'aph,  or  somefin,  to  let  us  know  yer 
was  comin',  an'  not  bring  de  young  mist'ess  down  so 
sudden  to  sich  a  grabe-yard  place  as  dis  ole  house  is 
in  de  winter  time  'dout  fires?" 


272  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Without  expecting  any  reply  from  the  master  of  the 
house,  she  hurried  Lilith  off  to  the  great  square  stone 
kitchen  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  where  a  fine  fire  of 
hickory  logs  was  blazing  in  the  broad  chimney. 

Lilith  went  up  to  the  welcome  warmth  and  held  out 
her  half-frozen  hands. 

"Gassy,"  she  said  to  the  cook,  who  was  waiting  to  be 
noticed;  "I  want  you  to  get  the  best  supper  you  can, 
at  the  shortest  notice.  Your  master  has  had  nothing 
but  a  railway  lunch  since  we  left  Washington  this 
morning." 

"Yes,  Miss  Lilif.  Yes,  honey.  Now  yer  jes  leabe  all 
dat  to  my  'sources.  I'll  fix  up  all  dat." 

Lilith  was  soon  made  comfortable  in  her  easy-chair, 
in  the  corner  of  the  chimney,  with  a  warm  mat  under 
her  feet. 

Mr.  Hereward  had  not  followed  her  into  the  kitchen. 
He  was  somewhere  in  the  house,  probably  overseeing 
Alick  in  his  work  of  kindling  fires  and  airing  rooms. 

"Now  I  look  at  yer  good,  young  mist'ess,  I  doan  fink 
yer  look  well  at  all.  Wot's  de  matter  wid  yer, 
honey?"  inquired  Nancy. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter  with  my  health.  I  was 
pinched  with  the  cold  when  I  came  in,"  replied  Lilith. 

To  change  the  subject,  Lilith  inquired: 

"How  is  Alick?    Is  he  any  better  than  he  was?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Alick's  come  all  right.  Arter  you  and 
Marse  Tudor  went  to  de  city  dat  time,  Alick  come 
sneakin'  home.  I  was  a  great  min'  not  to  let  him  come 
in  de  kitchen,  but  me  an'  him  is  ole  fellow-servants, 
so  I  didn'  'fuse  him.  An'  he  didn'  show  no  signs  ob 
bein'  out'n  his  head,  'cept  by  de  queer  questions  he 
axed." 

"Questions?" 

"Yes,  honey.  Impidint  questions,  I  called  'em.  He 
ax  how  was  de  marster  mad  long  o'  you,  w'en  he  come 
home;  an'  how  did  he  'quire  arter  him,  Alick,  an'  was 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  273 

lie  gwine  to  shoot  anybody.  I  shet  him  up  mighty 
quick,  I  tell  yer,  young  mist'ess;  an'  since  dat  Alick 
has  been  as  good  as  goole." 

At  this  moment  Cely,  the  little  housemaid,  came 
into  the  kitchen  and  said: 

"Dere's  a  great,  big,  fine  fire  in  yer  room,  Miss  Lilif. 
and  eberyfing  fix  comfo'ble  for  yer,  ef  yer  likes  to  go 
upsta'rs." 

"Yes,  I  will  go;  I  want  to  get  off  my  heavy  wraps  i 
and  thick  boots,"  said  Lilith,  rising. 

Her  own  chamber,  when  she  reached  it,  was  very 
pleasant,  comfortable  and  attractive. 

A  great  fire  had  been  kindled,  and  then  all  the 
windows  had  been  opened  to  allow  the  high,  dry 
March  wind  to  blow  freely  through  the  room  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  they  had  been  closed.  And 
now  the  atmosphere  was  at  once  fresh  and  warm. 

Warm  water  and  clean  towels  were  on  the  wash- 
stand. 

Lilith  laid  off  her  hat  and  cloak,  washed  her  face 
and  hands,  brushed  out  and  put  up  her  hair,  and  then 
sat  down  before  the  fire. 

" Where  is  Mr.  Hereward,  do  you  know?"  she  in- 
quired of  the  little  maid. 

"Marse  Tudor  in  de  parlor,  talkin'  long  ob  Alick. 
Beckon  he's  axin'  Alick  how  de  farm  is  gettin'  on," 
replied  Cely^ 

Cely  was  right  enough  in  her  facts,  but  all  wrong  in 
her  deductions. 

Mr.  Hereward  was  in  the  parlor  talking  with  Alick, 
certainly,  but  not  of  farm  affairs. 

This  was  the  very  first  time  he  had  seen  Alick  since 
the  morning  of  his  arrival,  some  weeks  before,  when 
the  negro  man  astonished  him  by  taking  to  his  heels 
and  running  away. 

Now  he  entered  the  parlor  while  Alick  was  engaged 
in  piling  dry  pine  logs  on  a  freshly  kindled  fire. 


274-  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Alick,"  said  his  master,  so  suddenly  that  the  man 
jumped  as  if  he  had  been  jerked  up — "Alick,  do  you 
remember  a  letter  you  wrote  to  me  last  January?" 

"Now,  Lor5  'a'  messy  'pon  top  o'  my  po'  brack  soul, 
how  de  sins  do  fine  us  out!"  said  the  man,  backing 
himself  up  against  the  chimney  corner  for  support. 

"Answer  me!  Do  you  remember  that  letter?" 
sternly  demanded  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Now,  Lor',  Marse  Tudor,  yer  ain't  gwine  to  go 
r-ippin'  up  dat  ole  'fence  'g'in  me,  is  yer?"  stuttered 
the  delinquent,  with  chattering  teeth. 

"I  ask  you,  do  you  remember  that  letter?"  sharply 
reiterated  Mr.  Hereward. 

Alick's  eyes  rolled  and  his  teeth  chattered.  He 
scratched  his  head,  and  then  answered,  boldly: 

"Letter?  Wot  letter?  No,  young  marse,  I  doan 
'member  nuffin'  'bout  no  letter.  W'ich  I  was  hopes  as 
yer  had  nebber  'ceived  dat  letter,  or  else  as  yer  had 
forgot  all  'bout  it.  Anyways,  I  doan  know  nuffin 
'bout  no  letter." 

"The  letter  you  wrote  me  in  last  January,  you  vil- 
lain! The  letter  in  which  you  spoke  of  your  mistress' 
visitor!"  sternly  exclaimed  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Now,  wot  letter  was  dat,  ag'in?"  said  Alick, 
scratching  his  head  and  pretending  to  ransack  his 
memory  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"Oh,  you  doubly  deceitful  wretch!  You  know  well 
enough  what  letter  it  was.  The  one  which  you 
wrote — " 

"Now,  dere,  young  marse;  dere.  Ef  it  war  de  las' 
word  I  had  to  speak  in  dis  worP  I  nebber  writ  no 
letter.  W'y,  I  nebber  writ  no  letter  in  all  my  life. 
I — I  dunno  how  to  write.  'Deed  it's  de  trufe,"  said 
Alick,  with  the  most  confident  look  of  injured  in- 
nocence. 

"Why,  you  prevaricating  rascal,  if  you  did  not 
write  the  letter,  you  dictated  it  to  the  postmaster's 


boy  who  wrote  it  for  you,"  angrily  declared  Mr.  Here- 
ward. 

"Now  jes'  see  dat  now,  how  dat  little  young  scamp 
ob  a  boy  done  gone  an'  gib  me  away.  An'  I  dunno  nuf- 
fin  'bout  no  letter  neider.  'Deed,  Lor'  knows  I  didn' 
write  dat  letter,  marse." 

"But  you  dictated  it." 

"  'Deed  Lor'  knows  I  nebber  dictated  it  neider! 
'Deed  it's  de  trufe." 

"If  you  did  not,  who  did?" 

"It  was  de  debbil,  sah.  'Deed  it  was  de  debbil. 
'Deed  it's  de  trufe." 

"So,"  said  Hereward,  who  was  too  familiar  with  the 
negro's  belief  in  the  activity  of  a  personal  devil  to  be 
the  least  surprised  at  this  explanation.  And  he 
dropped  into  an  arm-chair  to  question  the  man  fur- 
ther. 

"So  it  was  the  devil  that  sent  you  to  Frosthill  to  get 
that  letter  written  to  me?" 

"Yes,  marse,  it  was  de  debbil.  Doan  yer  blame  dis 
po'  nigger  fo'  it,  marse.  I  couldn'  help  ob  it.  It  was 
de  debbil  a-pushin'  an'  a-pushin  an'  a-pushin'  ob  me 
on  to  do  it  all  de  time." 

"What  reason  did  the  foul  fiend  give  you  for  doing 
such  a  thing?" 

"Yer  mean  him?"  mysteriously  inquired  the  negro. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  marse,  he  keep  a-tellin'  ob  me  as — as — yer 
ought  to  be  home  to  look  arter  de  fam'ly,  an'  see  into 
de — de  visitors  wot  come — " 

"Meaning  one  visitor  in  particular." 

"Ye — ye — yes,  marse.  But  my  Lor'-a-mity,  marse, 
doan  go  an'  shoot  nobody.  Please  doan.  It's  so 
awful  lonesome-like  to  have  people  shootin'  and  hang- 
in'  an'  fings.  'Sides  which,  I  rarely  doan  know  nuffin 
'bout  no  letter,  an'  I  doan  know  wot  yer  talkin'  'bout 
neider.  'Deed  doan  I.  'Deed  it's  de  trufe." 


276  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"What  was  there  in  the  conduct  of  this  young  man 
who  happened  to  be  storm-bound  here  that  induced 
YOU — or  the  devil — to  write  that  letter?"  inquired 
Hereward,  ignoring  the  negro's  relapses  into  denial. 

"Conduck,  young  marse?  Nuffin  in  de  worP.  Oh, 
doan  go  gunnin'  arter  him,  young  marse.  A  more 
nicerer  or  properer  behaved  young  youf  nebber  come 
into  no  house  befo'.  W'y,  he  was  jes'  like  a  young 
minVer.  He  'minded  me  ob  de  airly  pieties  wot  allers 
go  to  Heben  young,  in  de  Sunday-schools  books,  he 
was  dat  sober-minded  an'  sankyfied." 

"If  such  was  the  case,  why  did  you  write  that  letter, 
or  cause  it  to  be  written?" 

"Hi,  marse,  wot  I  tell  yer?  'Twa'n't  me,  it  was  de 
debbil.  He  made  me  do  it.  I  couldn'  help  myse'f  to 
save  my  life." 

"And  why  do  you  suppose  the  enemy  of  mankind 
wished  you  to  do  this  particular  piece  of  mischief?" 

"I  fought  dat  myse'f,  marse,  arterwards.  I  fought 
— what  de  name  ob  sense  de  debbil  make  po'  me  do 
dat  fer?  An'  I  came  to  de  'elusion  as  de  debbil  want 
me  to  aggrawate  you  to  go  gunnin'  arter  dat  pious 
young  youf!  'Caze  he  is  allers  goin'  'bout  like  a 
roarin'  lion  seekin'  whom  he  may  'wour.  'Deed  it's  de 
trufe." 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  at  length,  looking  steadily  into 
the  half  frightened,  half  obstinate  face  of  the  negro. 
"Very  well.  I  am  willing  on  this  occasion  that  the 
broad  back  of  the  devil  should  bear  the  responsibility 
of  that  letter.  But  hark  you,  sir.  If  you  should  ever 
yield  to  the  instigation  of  the  evil  one  to  write  such 
another  letter  to  me,  or  to  any  one  else — I — shall  make 
you  wish  you  had  never  been  born." 

"Lor',  young  marse,  dat  would  be  nuffin  new  to  me. 
I  done  wish  dat  off  en  an'  off  en  since  de  inimy  writ  dat 
letter.  'Deed  all  de  colored  people  'bout  yere  could 
tell  yer  as  I  was  out  ob  my  lunacies  'bout  it,  so  feared 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  277 

yer'd  go  gurmin'  arter  dat  pious  young  youf  wot  de 
debbil  had  a  spite  ag'in.  I  tell  yer,  young  marse — 

''There,  that  will  do.  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  about 
the  matter.  Only  mark  my  words  and  remember 
them,"  said  Hereward,  whose  patience  had  been  tried 
to  the  utmost. 

His  doubts,  suspicions,  and  jealousies  had  been  so 
increased  by  the  prevarications  of  the  negro,  that  he 
was  in  a  most  miserable  mood  when  he  finally  arose  to 
go  upstairs  and  get  some  of  the  railroad  dust  from  his 
face  and  hair. 

As  soon  as  he  left  the  little  parlor,  the  two  house- 
maids, Cely  and  Mandy,  came  in  to  lay  the  cloth  for 
supper  there,  because  it  was  so  much  cosier  than  the 
large  dining-room. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Hereward  and  Lilith  were  seated 
at  a  dainty  yet  substantial  meal,  which  they  might 
have  enjoyed  well  had  not  the  cloud  between  them 
overshadowed  and  dampened  the  spirits  of  both. 

When  the  meal  was  about  half  over,  Hereward 
beckoned  Alick,  who  was  waiting  on  the  table,  to  come 
to  his  side.  And  when  the  man  obeyed,  he  said: 

"Tell  the  cook  that  I  shall  want  a  cup  of  coffee  at 
half-past  five  to-morrow  morning.  Tell  Stephen  to 
have  the  buggy  at  the  door  by  a  quarter  to  six.  I  wish 
to  take  the  seven-thirty  train  to  Washington  to- 
morrow." 

"Ye — yes,  sah.  Yes,  sah!"  promptly  responded  the 
man,  astonished,  but  too  frightened  and  anxious  upon 
many  accounts  to  let  his  astonishment  be  seen. 

Lilith  looked  up  in  involuntary  surprise  and  pain.  It 
was  to  herself  that  he  should  first  have  announced  his 
early  departure;  yet  he  had  given  her  no  hint  of  it. 
It  was  through  her  that  he  should  have  given  his 
orders  to  the  cook,  yet  he  had  not  done  so.  It  was 
almost  an  insult  to  have  ignored  her  in  that  pointed 


278  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

manner.  Yet  she  tried  to  repudiate  the  thought  that 
he  had  intended  to  humiliate  her  before  the  household. 

"I  must  not  be  morbid  or  touchy.  I  must  not  fancy 
myself  ill  used.  I  will  not  do  so.  Tudor  does  not  know 
— how  could  he  know? — that  my  dear  father — his 
father — gave  all  his  orders  to  the  house  servants 
through  me  and  that  they  are  not  accustomed  to  any 
other  rule.  But  what  does  it  matter?  How  querulous 
I  am  getting!  Heaven  help  me,"  she  said,  taking  her- 
self roundly  to  task  for  her  feeling  of  mortification. 

But  Hereward  never  addressed  a  word  to  her  dur- 
ing supper. 

And  immediately  afterward  he  retired  to  his  little 
study,  where  a  fire  had  been  kindled,  and  where  his 
overseer,  who  had  heard  of  his  arrival,  was  waiting  to 
see  him,  and  there,  upon  excuse  of  business,  he  spent 
the  night,  first  in  going  over  the  farm  books  with  the 
manager,  and  afterwards,  when  left  alone,  in  writing. 

Lilith  went  to  her  chamber,  where  she  found  Nancy 
ready  to  serve  her  in  any  affectionate  manner  that 
was  needed. 

"I  think  I  will  go  immediately  to  bed.  I  feel  very, 
very  tired,"  she  said,  wearily,  as  she  dropped  into  her 
chair  before  the  fire. 

"Yer  looks  as  if  yer  wasn?  o'ny  tired  ob  trabellin', 
but  tired  ob  life  itse'f,"  said  the  nurse,  looking  sorrow- 
fully into  the  pale  face  and  heavy  eyes  of  her  young 
mistress. 

And  then  Nancy  knelt  at  her  feet  to  take  off  her 
shoes  and  hose. 

Lilith  was  so  prostrated  in  mind  and  body  that  as 
soon  as  she  lay  down  in  her  bed  the  blessed  rest  of 
sleep  stole  over  the  weary  heart  and  brain.  So  deep 
and  so  long  was  that  sleep  of  exhaustion  that  it  was 
late  when  she  awoke.  The  sun  was  shining  so  brightly 
through  the  chinks  in  the  window  shutters  that  Lilith 
knew  the  morning  was  advanced.  She  sat  up  in  bed 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  279 

and  rubbed  her  eyes.  Then  she  noticed  that  the 
second  pillow  on  the  bed  was  perfectly  smooth.  Her 
husband  had  not  been  in  the  room  all  night.  She 
sprang  out  of  bed  and  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was 
seven  o'clock.  Then  she  rang  her  bell. 

The  housekeeper  answered  it  by  entering  the  room. 

"Nancy,  where  is  Mr.  Hereward?"  she  inquired. 

"He  is  gone,  honey.  How  does  yer  feel  dis 
mornin'?" 

"Gone!  Mr.  Hereward  gone?"  exclaimed  Lilith, 
incredulously. 

"Yes,  honey;  he  went  away  mor'n  an  hour  ago. 
How  does  yer  feel  this  mornin',  honey?" 

"Gone?    Without  taking  leave  of  me?" 

"Yes,  gone.  He  wouldn't  let  yer  be  'sturbed.  He 
say  yer  was  tired  an'  needed  res'.  It  was  berry 
t'oughtful  ob  de  young  marse,  'caze  so  yer  did  need 
res'.  An'  I  hope  it  has  done  yer  good.  Yer's  had  a 
good  long  sleep.  How  does  yer  feel  dis  mornin',  any- 
how, honey?" 

"Oh,  Nancy,  Nancy!  Why  did  you  let  Mr.  Hereward 
go  off  without  taking  leave  of  me?  Oh,  why,  wrhy  did 
you  not  call  me?"  demanded  Lilith,  in  a  tone  of  sor- 
rowful reproach. 

"Hi,  now,  Miss  Lilif,  honey,  is  I  de  marster  ob  de 
house?  Sure  I  did  want  to  call  yer,  an'  'posed  it 
sev'ral  times,  but  Marse  Tudor  wouldn'  'low  it. 
Wouldn'  hear  ob  it,  I  tell  yer,  honey.  An'  yer  know 
w'en  de  young  marse  put  his  foot  down — dere  it  is! 
An'  w'en  he  say  so  an'  so,  it  is  so  an'  so!  'Deed  I's 
sorry  enuff,  Miss  Lilif,  but  I  couldn'  help  ob  it,  honey." 

"Did  Gassy  have  a  good  breakfast  ready  in  time?" 

"Oh,  yes,  honey,  fus'  rate.  Good  coffee  an'  buck- 
cakes,  an'  ham  an'  eggs,  an'  chicken.  Now  doan  yer 
go  an'  take  on  'bout  not  seein'  him  off.  De  young 
marse  was  t'oughtful  'bout  your  res'  an'  comfort, 
honey,  he  was.  An'  yer  know  gem'en  frinks  a  great 


280  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

deal  more  'bout  bodily  ease  an'  healf  an'  dat  dan  dey 
does  'bout  de  'fec-tions  ob  de  heart.  Dey  ain't  'fection- 
ate  as  we  is,  honey,  an'  yer  needn't  s'pect  'em  to  be, 
neider.  La!  de  young  marster  is  a  berry  fine  gem'an, 
an'  a  berry  good  an'  great  one;  but  la!  he's  on'y  a 
man;  so  wot  could  yer  s'pect?  Dey  doan  mean  no 
harm,  honey,  when  dey  walks  ober  yer  feelin's.  Dey 
doan  know  no  better,  chile,  'deed  dey  doan.  'Deed  it's 
de  trufe." 

"Oh,  Nancy!  please,  please  don't  talk  any  more 
about  it,"  said  Lilith,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
covering  her  head  to  hide  her  tears. 

Not  long  did  she  indulge  her  grief.  By  the  time  that 
Nancy  had  unpacked  her  mistress'  dressing-gown  and 
hung  it  over  the  back  of  her  rocking-chair  before  the 
fire,  and  laid  the  slippers  on  the  rug,  Lilith  arose. 

The  March  wind  was  still  blowing  a  hurricane  and 
the  house  was  intensely  cold,  except  in  those  rooms 
where  great  fires  were  kindled. 

Yet,  as  Lilith  could  not  rest  in  any  place,  as  soon  as 
she  had  dressed  and  breakfasted  she  wrapped  a  shawl 
around  her  and  went  through  all  parts  of  the  mansion, 
opening  closed  chambers  and  closets,  examining  old 
stores  of  household  linen,  china  and  plate,  all  of 
which  she  found  in  such  good  condition  that  she  com- 
plimented Nancy  on  her  housekeeping. 

So  passed  this  day,  which  was  Saturday. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  wind  storm  seemed  at  its 
height,  but  the  sky  was  clear  and  bright,  and  the 
ground  from  which  the  snow  had  gone  for  many  days, 
was  hard  frozen,  rendering  the  roads  good  for  travel- 
ing; so  Lilith  determined  to  go  to  church. 

She  went  in  the  closed  carriage,  driven  by  Stephen. 

On  reaching  the  building  she  had  only  time  to  pass 
into  lier  pew  just  before  the  services  began. 

The  rector,  Mr.  Cave,  was  in  the  pulpit,  as  usual, 
and  the  church  was  quite  full.  Lilith  knew  from  the 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  281 

general  appearance  of  the  congregation  that  all  her 
friends  and  neighbors  must  be  present. 

But  she  was  too  devout  to  look  around  for  individual 
recognition. 

As  the  services  went  on,  her  perturbed  spirit  was 
soothed  and  strengthened. 

The  text  was  a  peculiarly  comforting  one  to  her: 

"And  God  shall  wipe  away  tears  from  all  faces." 

"  'All  faces/  "  responded  Lilith,  in  her  loving  heart. 
"  'All  faces.'  Not  a  few  favored  ones,  but  from  all — 
'all  faces,'  God  will  wipe  away  the  tears." 

The  discourse  that  followed  the  text  was  strong, 
tender  and  comforting,  like  all  the  utterances  of  Mr. 
Cave. 

Lilith,  as  well  as  others,  was  greatly  cheered  and 
consoled. 

When  the  services  were  over,  and  the  benediction 
had  been  pronounced,  Lilith  left  the  church,  to  find 
herself  surrounded  in  the  churchyard  by  all  her 
friends  and  neighbors,  who  expressed  equal  surprise 
and  pleasure  at  seeing  her. 

They  had  not  heard  of  her  arrival  at  the  Cliffs. 

"When  did  you  come,  my  dear?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jor- 
don,  who  was  among  the  first  to  greet  her. 

Lilith  told  her. 

"And  Mr.  Hereward?    He  is  with  you,  of  course." 

"No;  Mr.  Hereward  only  brought  me  down  on  Fri- 
day and  returned  yesterday,"  Lilith  explained. 

"Ah!  he  could  not  remain  absent  from  his  post.  But 
you  are  not  looking  well,  love.  Washington  did  not 
agree  with  you,"  continued  the  lady. 

"Mr.  Hereward  thought  it  best  for  me  to  come  down 
here,"  said  Lilith. 

"Lilith,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Jordon,  "I  am  going 
to-morrow  to  Kushmore,  to  spend  a  few  days  with 


282  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Hilary.  Won't  you  come,  like  a  darling,  to  help  me 
bear  the  racket  at  'Headlong  Hall?'  " 

"Don't  do  it,  Mrs.  Here  ward,"  exclaimed  old  Jab,  in 
his  shrillest  tone.  "The  place  is  more  of  a  lunatic 
asylum  than  ever.  My  mad  step-son  has  bitten  several 
of  the  negroes,  and  they  have  all  gone  raving  mad." 

Mrs.  Jab  laughed. 

"It  is  true,  Lilith.  But  it  is  amusing.  Do  you 
remember  Jupe?  He  is  more  stage-struck  than  his 
young  master,  and  he  is  crazy  to  have  the  possessor  of 
Rushmore  Manors  sell  out  his  patrimonial  estate  and 
invest  in  the  traveling  circus  and  wild  beast  business." 

"My  dear  friends,"  expostulated  the  doctor,  "I  am 
tempted  to  leave  you  all  to  your  own  devices,  and 
allow  you  to  catch  pleurisies  and  pneumonias  by 
standing  out  here  in  this  windx  so  that  I  may  have 
plenty  of  practice,  but  conscience  won't  allow  me  to 
do  it.  Get  into  your  carriages  and  go  home.  I  set  the 
example.  Good-morning  to  one  and  all." 

With  these  words  the  jolly  doctor  handed  Lilith  into 
her  carriage,  and  then  got  into  his  own  gig  and  drove 
off. 

Lilith  went  home  through  the  spectral,  wintry 
woods,  lifting  their  skeleton  branches  to  the  cold, 
bright  blue  sky. 

Lilith  was  feeling  happier; — the  consoling  and 
strengthening  promises  of  the  Word;  the  hearty  and 
affectionate  greeting  of  her  friends — all  these  had 
cheered  her  heart  and  raised  her  spirits;  and  the  drive 
through  the  woods  in  the  keen  March  air  had  given 
color  to  her  pale  cheeks,  so  that  on  reaching  home 
Nancy  received  her  with  an  exclamation. 

"W'y,  honey,  yer  looks  like  anoder  pusson,  'deed 
does  yer!  Yer  ought  to  go  out  ebery  day;  'deed  yer 
ought." 

Lilith  smiled  and  promised  that  she  would  do  so. 

Accordingly,  on  Monday  morning  the  young  mis- 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  283 

tress  of  the  manor  said  that  she  herself  would  drive 
to  the  village  to  get  her  letters,  if  there  should  be  any 
for  her;  and  she  ordered  the  pony  chaise  to  be  brought 
to  the  door. 

When  Lilith  reached  the  village  and  entered  the 
postoffice,  the  postmaster  exclaimed  aloud,  with  sur- 
prise : 

"Why,  my  dear  madam,  I  thought  you  had  gone 
back  to  the  city  with  Mr.  Hereward!  And  only  half 
an  hour  ago,  under  that  impression,  I  acted  on  gen- 
eral orders  and  sent  all  your  mail  on  to  Washington," 
he  said,  with  a  look  of  regret. 

She  had  some  shopping  to  do  in  the  village,  some 
groceries  and  hardware  to  select  and  order,  and  so  it 
was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  at  length  got 
througli  with  her  business  and  turned  homeward. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  she  reached  the  Cliffs. 

She  was  met  as  usual  by  Nancy,  who,  with  a  happy 
smile,  said: 

"I's  got  a  s'prise  for  yer,  honey — a  wisiter  who  will 
cheer  yer  up!" 

"Who  is  it?"  inquired  Lilith,  as  her  heart  bounded 
with  hope — hope  that  her  husband  had  relented  and 
returned.  "Who  is  it,  Nancy?" 

"You  jes'  go  inter  de  parlor  an'  see  fo'  yerse'f, 
honey!"  said  the  woman,  With  a  little  laugh. 

Lilith,  expecting  to  see  her  husband,  opened  the 
door  with  a  glad  smile,  and — was  caught  in  the  arms 
and  pressed  to  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon! 

"Oh,  heaven  have  mercy  on  me,  how  cruel  this  is!" 
exclaimed  the  disappointed  and  terrified  young  wife, 
as  she  freed  herself  from  the  visitor's  embrace,  and 
sank  exhausted  into  a  chair.  "You  here,  and  I 
thought  you  were  in  California,  or  on  your  way  to 
Australia!" 

"I  know  you  think  I  am  ubiquitous — and  so  I  am  in 
some  senses,"  said  the  visitor. 


284  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

CHAPTER  XXXI 

ON    THE    BRINK 

LILITH  sank  into  a  chair,  and  dropped  her  head  upon 
her  hands. 

"You  give  me  but  a  cold  welcome.  I  think  even 
your  housekeeper  gave  me  a  warmer  one,"  said  the 
visitor,  as  he  threw  himself  into  a  seat  opposite  hers. 

Lilith  moaned,  but  made  no  reply  in  words. 

"My  child,  why  do  you  not  speak  to  me?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Oh,  how  can  I  speak?  What  have  I  to  say  that 
would  not  wound  you?"  breathed  Lilith  from  behind 
her  sheltering  hands. 

"Have  I  no  rights,  then,  that  you  are  'bound  to 
respect?'  " 

"My  husband  has  the  only  rights  over  me.  His 
peace,  his  honor,  his  happiness,  must  only  be  con- 
sidered in  this.  And,  indeed — indeed,  you  must  go, 
and  you  must  never  come  again." 

"By  the  pipers!"  exclaimed  the  stroller,  with  his 
reckless  laugh,  "this  is  a  new  reading  of  the 
Decalogue.  There  is  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments, 
I  remember — I  learned  them  once  at  the  parish 
church  of  my  native  village — which  is  a  little  at 
variance  with  your  declaration;  but,  to  be  sure,  there 
is  another  Scripture,  'Wives,  obey  your  husbands,' 
which  may  indorse  it.  Has  Here  ward  forbidden  you 
to  see  me,  Lilith?" 

"No,  he  has  not.  He  does  not  even  know  that  you 
are  in  the  country.  He  thinks,  as  I  thought,  that  you 
are  on  your  way  to  Australia.  How  is  it  that  you  are 
here,  when  the  papers  spoke  of  you  as  being  in  Cali- 
fornia, concluding  a  brilliant  engagement  there,  and 
being  on  the  eve  of  a  voyage  to  Australia?"  inquired 
Lilith. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIPE  £85 

Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair, 
and  laughed  aloud.  The  "elegant"  man  of  the  world 
seemed  transformed  at  once  into  the  reckless 
Bohemian. 

"My  dear  Lilith,"  he  said,  "in  our  line  of  life  there 
are  'wheels  within  wheels;'  mysteries  on  the  posters 
as  well  as  on  the  stage;  plots  behind  the  scenes  as 
well  as  before  the  audience.  My  white  lily — you  are 
very  white  just  now — my  name  went  to  California,  but 
not  my  person.  The  name  which  I  first  made  famous 
belongs  now  more  to  the  troupe  than  it  does  to  me.  I 
would  not  go  to  California.  I  never  stirred  from 
Washington  until  I  came  down  here." 

"You — never  left  Washington!"  gasped  Lilith. 

"Never,  until  I  came  down  here.  The  troupe  were 
going  to  a  city  where  I  was  not  known.  I  w^ould  not 
go  with  them  at  any  price,  so  as  a  last  resort  I  was 
induced  to  hire  out  my  popular  name  to  a  most  won- 
derful imitator,  and  whom  the  stage  artist,  with  the 
aid  of  a  beautiful  black  wig,  false  black  eyebrows, 
false  black  moustache,  paint,  padding,  and  'symmet- 
ricals/  will  make  up  into  a  passable  Alfred  Ancillon 
behind  the  footlights.  But  why  were  you  so  surprised 
to  see  me?  You  must  have  received  my  letter?" 

"Your  letter?  No.  I  received  no  letter  from  you," 
exclaimed  Lilith,  as  a  mortal  terror  paled  her  cheeks 
at  the  recollection  of  her  morning's  mail,  which  had 
been  returned  to  Washington  by  the  postmaster, 
under  the  impression  that  she  herself  had  gone  back 
thither.  That  mail  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  her 
husband.  That  letter  might  be  opened  by  him,  for  it 
was  an  understood  matter  between  them  that  either, 
in  the  absence  of  the  other,  might  open  letters  that 
seemed  to  require  immediate  attention,  unless,  indeed, 
they  should  be  marked  private. 

"Lilith!  what  is  the  matter  with  you?    Why  do  you 


286  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

turn  pale  at  the  announcement  that  I  have  written  to 
you?"  demanded  the  visitor. 

"Your  letter  will  fall  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Here- 
ward  and  cause —  Oh,  Heaven!  what  woe  may  it  not 
cause!"  she  moaned. 

"Lilith!"  exclaimed  Ancillon  starting  up  in  alarm — 
"what  do  you  mean?  How  could  my  letter  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Hereward?  Here  ward  is  in  Washing- 
ton." 

"And  the  letter  has  gone  to  Washington,"  she 
moaned. 

"WHAT!"  he  cried,  growing  as  pale  as  herself. 

"I  say  the  letter  has  gone  to  Washington!  Sent 
there  by  the  postmaster,  under  the  impression  that  I 
had  returned  to  the  city  with  Mr.  Hereward." 

"The  confounded  donkey!  Why  did  he  not  wait  for 
orders  before  daring  to  do  such  a  thing?  He  is  unfit 
for  his  post!"  exclaimed  Ancillon,  all  the  more  vehe- 
mently because  he  felt  that  he  himself  was,  und;>r  the 
very  peculiar  circumstances,  much  more  to  blame  than 
was  the  simple  village  postmaster. 

"But,  oh!  why  did  you  do  such  a  reckless  deed  as  to 
write  to  me  at  all?"  moaned  Lilith. 

"To  announce  my  arrival.  It  seemed  so  safe  both 
to  write  and  come.  Hereward  was  in  Washington 
— you  here." 

"How  did  you  know  that?" 

"My  child,  he  is  of  sufficient  importance  in  the  world 
to  have  all  his  motions  chronicled  by  the  papers;  but, 
indeed,  it  was  not  to  the  papers  alone  that  I  owed  my 
information.  You  should  have  got  that  letter  on  Sun- 
day morning." 

"Our  post-office  is  never  open  on  Sundays,"  said 
Lilith. 

"Then  you  should  have  got  it  this  morning,  and  you 
would  have  done  so  but  for  the  stupidity  of  your  post- 
master." 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  287 

"And  now  it  will  certainly  fall  into  the  hands  of  my 
husband!" 

"Still,  he  would  scarcely  open  your  letter,  Lilith?" 

"Yes,  he  would,  unless  it  were  marked  'private,'  as 
he  allows  me  to  open  all  his  own  except  so  marked. 
He  says  we  have  no  secrets  from  each  other!  I  know 
that  he  has  none  from  me  and  he  thinks  that  I  have 
none  from  him!  Ah,  would  to  Heaven  I  had  not!"  she 
earnestly  prayed. 

"You  have  no  secrets  of  your  own  kept  from  your 
husband,  Lilith." 

"No,  thank  Heaven!    I  have  none  of  my  own!" 

"Then  since  this  is  not  your  mystery,  but  mine,  why 
should  it  be  such  an  intolerable  burden  on  your  heart 
and  conscience,  Lilith?" 

"Because  it  is  something  that  I  keep  from  him!  And 
I  grieve  to  keep  anything  from  him  who  has  no  con- 
cealments from  me,"  moaned  Lilith.  Then,  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  tone,  she  inquired:  "What  did  you 
write  in  that  letter?  Did  you  make  any  allusions  to — 
to—" 

"The  situation?  My  life's  precious  secret?  No, 
Lilith,  certainly  not!  I  merely  announced  the  fact  I 
had  discovered  that  you  were  to  be  brought  down 
here  by  Mr.  Hereward  and  left  here  for  your  health; 
that  you  would  again  be  alone  and  that  I  should  take 
advantage  of  the  circumstance  to  come  down  and  visit 
you." 

"And,  oh!  What  will  my  husband  think — what 
would  any  man  think  on  reading  such  a  letter  as  that, 
addressed  to  his  wife?"  groaned  Lilith. 

Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  fell  back  in  his  chair,  shook  his 
black  curls  and  indulged  in  one  of  his  long,  silvery 
peals  of  laughter  before  he  answered. 

"  'What  would  any  man  think?'  Why,  if  he  were  a 
jealous,  suspicious,  evil-imagining  man,  he  would  be 


288  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

sure  to  think  that  his  wife  had  an  ardent,  persistent 
and  perhaps  a  favored  lover!" 

"Oh,  heaven  of  heavens,  what  shall  I  do?"  ex- 
claimed Lilith,  dropping  her  crimsoned  face  into  her 
hands  again. 

"Don't  fret!  It  is  alarming!  I  felt  it  to  be  so  my- 
self when  I  first  heard  that  my  dispatches  were  likely 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy!  But  I  never  per- 
mit myself  to  wail  over  the  inevitable.  'What  is  be- 
yond remedy  should  be  beyond  regret.'  That  is  good 
philosophy!  That  is  'wisdom  in  solid  chunks!'  "  said 
Ancillon,  gayly. 

"But,  oh!  when  he  confronts  me  with  that  letter! 
— as  he  will  do! — and  demands  an  explanation — what 
can  I  say  to  him?"  wailed  Lilith. 

"Say  nothing!  'Least  said  is  soonest  mended!' 
That  is  good  philosophy  also!  Laugh  at  him!  Make 
light  of  it!  That  is  the  way  in  which  you  must  meet 
the  difficulty,  Lilith." 

"Oh,  I  cannot.  I  cannot  prevaricate.  I  must  either 
refuse  to  explain,  or — I  must  tell  the  truth.  Oh,  re- 
lease me  from  my  promise.  Oh,  let  me  tell  my  hus- 
band." 

"Lilith!  You  are  mad — stark  mad.  It  is  well  I 
bound  you  by  an  oath  you  dare  not  break,  or  you 
would  betray  and  ruin  me  without  the  least  hesita- 
tion. Bah!  I  won't  be  melodramatic  over  all  this. 
In  a  word,  my  child,  I  charge  you  by  your  duty  to  me 
— and  if  you  are  a  Christian  you  are  bound  to  acknowl- 
edge that  you  do  owe,  some  duty  even  to  me — " 

"My  first  duty  is  to  my  husband,"  murmured  Lilith, 
in  a  very  low  but  firm  voice. 

"Well,  granted.  Your  first  duty  is  to  your  husband. 
So  let  your  duty  to  me  pass  out  of  the  question.  Still, 
I  charge  you  by  the  oath  you  have  registered  in 
Heaven,  Lilith  Hereward,  never  to  reveal  my  secret, 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  289 

except  in  the  contingency  agreed  between  us— a  con- 
tingency scarcely  possible  to  happen." 

''Then  Heaven  have  mercy  on  me;  for  I  know  not 
what  the  next  twenty-four  hours  may  bring  forth  " 
groaned  Lilith. 

"Why— what  do  you  expect  them  to  develop?"  in- 
quired Ancillon,  with  more  uneasiness  than  he  had 
intended  to  betray. 

"Mr.  Hereward  will  get  that  letter  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. As  it  is  not  marked  private,  he  may  open  it  and 
read  it.  Can  you  suppose  that  after  reading  such  a  let- 
ter as  that,  addressed  to  his  wife,  he  will  quietly  re- 
main in  Washington?  No;  believe  me,  he  will  take 
the  first  train  to  Frosthill,  and  be  here  by  to-morrow 
evening,  at  latest.  The  one  chance,  the  only  hope,  is 
that  he  will  be  too  busy  to  look  into  any  corre- 
spondence, and  will  frank  it  all  back  to  me  here." 

As  Lilith  spoke  the  bell  rang. 

I' Will  you  come  in  to  tea?"  she  inquired,  wearily. 

"Yes,  for  the  last  time.  I  will  not  stay  in  the  house, 
or  even  in  the  neighborhood,  to  compromise  you,  my 
poor  child.  I  will  just  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you, 
and  then— take  my  leave.  Meanwhile,  will  you  'take' 
my  arm  to  the  dining-room?" 

Lilith  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  sleeve  and  they 
went  out  together. 

Stephen,  the  groom  and  coachman,  dressed  in  his 
Sunday  clothes,  stood  waiting. 

"Where  is  Alick?"  inquired  his  mistress,  as  she 
handed  him  a  cup  of  tea  to  be  served  to  her  guest. 

"Oh!  Alick,  mist'ess?  I  fink  Alick  has  gone  luny 
ag'in,  for  soon's  ebber  he  put  up  de  bosses  arter  dribin' 
yer  home  f'om  de  pos'-office,  he  run  away  offen  de 
place,  Alick  did— 'deed  he  did,  young  mist'ess— so  A'n' 
Nancy  she  tole  me  to  come  in  an'  wait  on  de  table. 
'Deed  it's  de  trufe." 


290  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"  Very  well,  that  will  do.  Hand  Mr.  Ancillon  tlu 
rolls." 

When  tea  was  over,  Lilith  and  her  guest  returned 
to  the  parlor.  And  then  Mr.  Ancillon  said: 

"I  am  going  to  bid  you  good-bye,  Lilith.  'It  may  be 
for  years  and  it  may  be  forever;'  for  it  is  good-bye  in 
earnest,  this  time." 

She  could  not  oppose  his  resolution.  She  could  not 
ask  him  to  stay  longer;  she  could  not  even  invite  him 
to  repeat  his  visit.  She  could  only  sob  forth  her  adieu 
and  prayers: 

"Oh,  may  heaven  be  with  you,  my  dear,  my  dear. 
My  heart  bleeds  to  see  you  go.  I  shall  pray  for  you 
night  and  morn-ing — yes,  morning  and  night  will  I 
pray." 

When  he  had  gone  Lilith  threw  herself  on  the  sofa 
aud  gave  way  to  a  paroxysm  of  bitterest  tears  and 
sobs. 

Lilith  slipped  from  her  recumbent  position  on  the 
lounge,  knelt  and  dropped  her  head  in  her  hands,  and 
prayed  earnestly  for  that  strange  visitor,  whose  tragic 
story  had  wrung  her  heart,  yet  whose  appearance  al- 
ways filled  her  with  dismay. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  husband  whom  she  loved 
and  honored  above  every  other  being  in  the  world — 
who  was,  indeed,  all  the  world  of  love  to  her. 

She  could  not  satisfy  Hereward  without  betraying 
Ancillon,  and  even  forswearing  herself. 

What  should  she  do?  Of  whom  could  she  ask 
advice? 

She  could  do  nothing.  Her  hands  were  tied  because 
her  tongue  was  tied. 

If  her  husband  should  open  and  read  Ancillon's 
letter  to  her,  what  would  he,  what  could  he  think? 
If  he  should  come  down  to  Cloud-Capped  Cliffs  and 
confront  her  with  that  letter  in  his  hands,  and  demand 
an  explanation,  what  could  she  say? 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  291 

She  might  refer  him  to  her  whole  short,  blameless 
life,  and  to  the  esteem  in  which  she  had  been  held  by 
his  father,  and  was  now  held  by  all  his  friends;  but 
what  would  all  that  be  worth  in  the  face  of  this  unex- 
plained letter,  and  to  the  judgment  of  a  jealous  hus- 
band? 

For  Lilith  could  not  conceal  from  herself — from  her 
deeply  humiliated  self — the  mortifying  truth  which 
she  perceived,  with  burning  blushes,  that  her  husband 
was  jealous — jealous  of  Alfred  Ancillon!  Yes,  and 
oh,  horror!  that  to  all  false  appearances  he  had  cause 
sufficient  for  jealousy! 

This  being  the  state  of  affairs,  how  should  she  meet 
her  husband? 

Yet  how  could  she  avoid  the  meeting? 

A  mad  impulse  seized  the  distracted  girl — an  im- 
pulse to  fly  from  the  coming  ordeal — to  fly,  perhaps, 
from  life  itself.  This  was  the  second  occasion  on 
which  Lilith  had  felt  the  Tempter's  power.  But  she 
did  not  yield  to  it;  she  met  and  resisted  it  by  prayer. 

"Miss  Lilif,  honey,  yer  gwine  set  up  all  night?  It's 
'leben  o'clock,  honey!" 

This  interruption,  it  is  almost  needless  to  say,  came 
from  Nancy,  who  had  opened  the  door  and  entered 
the  room. 

"Is  it  so  late?  I  will  go  to  bed  at  once,"  said  Lilithr 
rising. 

"Dat  young  youf  gone,  I  hears,  Miss  Lilif.  Steve 
say  how  he  went  'way  'rectly  arter  tea.  'Deed  I  was 
hopes  he'd  cheer  yer  up  a  bit!  But  Steve  he  say  he 
set  mumchance  all  de  time,  'dout  a  word  to  t'row  at 
a  dog!  Come  to  see  a  lady,  an'  be  no  more  entertainin' 
'an  dat!  'Deed  I  calls  it  flyin'!" 

"  'Flying?"  inquired  Lilith,  with  a  forced  smile — 
"how  flying,  Nancy?" 

"W'y,  flyin'  right  slap  into  de  face  ob  good  manners. 
Dat's  wot  it  is!  People's  allers  flyin'!  But  I  didn* 


292  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

s'pect  how  dis  young  youf  was  gwine  to  fly!  'Gaze, 
sence  yer  been  gone,  I  done  hear  mighty  good  'ports  ob 
him!  'Deed  has  I!" 

"What  have  you  heard  of  him,  Nancy?"  inquired  the 
young  lady,  with  more  interest  than  she  had  yet 
shown  in  the  conversation. 

"Hush,  honey!  Dem  young  ladies  at  Rushmore — 
leastways  at  Broad  Manors — leastways —  But  'deed  I 
(lunno  w'ere  dey  'longs  to  rightfully,  'caze  sometimes 
dey  is  at  one  place  an'  sometimes  dey  is  at  t'oder — I 
<?all  dat  flyin',  too,  'deed  does  I!  'Caze  'spectable 
young  ladies  ought  to  hab  some  settle'  home." 

"Do  you  mean  the  Misses  Miles?" 

"Yes,  honey,  dem.  W'y  dey  finks  de  sun  an'  moon 
rises  an'  sets  long  of  dis  young  youf!  An'  'deed  Aunt 
Jessie,  de  cook  at  Broad  Manors,  say  how  Miss  Harriet 
Miles  is  dead  in  love  long  ob  him  ebber  sence  dey  fust 
met  at  Rushmore!" 

"Come,  come,  Nancy!  I  really  cannot  allow  you  to 
speak  so  freely  of  a  young  lady,"  said  Lilith,  gravely. 

"La,  honey,  it  ain't  me  as  says  it!  It  is  ole  Marse 
Jab's  Jessie!  W'ich  she  says  as  Mr.  Hilary  an'  all  de 
ladies  finks  a  heap  ob  dat  young  youf." 

"Youth,  Nancy!  Mr.  Ancillon  is  not  a  youth.  He  is 
a  man  of  middle  age." 

"Him!"  said  the  woman,  pausing  in  her  work  of 
covering  up  the  fire,  and  staring  at  her  mistress. 

"Yes:  he  is  thirty-six  years  old." 

"I  'clar,  I  didn'  fink  he  was  more'n  nineteen!  How 
'ceivin'  some  people's  looks  is,  to  be  sure." 

"He  looks  much  younger  than  his  age,  because  he  is 
a  little  below  the  medium  height  and  he  is  slender  and 
wears  his  black  hair  long  and  curling,  and  he  is  always 
gay  and  boyish  in  manner." 

"An'  han'some!  Umph!  humph!  Hush,  honey! 
Whoop  you  bosses!  He's  broke  hearts  in  his  time,  you 
bet." 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  293 

"Come,  Nancy,  never  mind  Mr.  Ancillon.  Tell  me — 
has  Alick  returned?" 

"No,  honey.  He  took  to  his  heels  soon's  ebber  he 
cotch  his  eyes  onto  dat  young — w'ich  I  meant  to  say 
dat  ge'man!  He?s  gone,  honey." 

A  few  moments  after  that,  Lilith  had  retired  to  bed, 
to  have  her  waking  thoughts  and  sleeping  visions 
haunted  by  rage,  jealousy  and  disaster. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  THUNDERBOLT 

HEREWARD  reached  Washington  late  on  Saturday 
afternoon,  and  without  stopping  for  rest  or  refresh- 
ment, weary  as  he  was  with  his  long  journey,  went 
at  once  from  the  station  to  the  political  meeting  where 
he  was  due — and  from  which,  late  at  night,  he  went 
to  his  room  in  the  hotel,  nearly  worn  out  in  body  and 
mind,  almost  thoroughly  disgusted  with  politics  and 
public  life,  and  with  himself  to  boot,  and  needing 
above  all  things  the  soothing  and  refreshing  ministra- 
tions he  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  at  the  hands 
of  his  one  little  devoted  worshipper. 

She  was  not  there,  and  his  neglected  room  looked 
dreary  and  comfortless  enough  without  her. 

There  was  no  bright  fire,  no  easy-chair  with  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers  laid  convenient,  no  neatly  laid 
little  table,  with  spirit  lamp  and  silver  kettle  and 
china  tea  service  for  two;  and  worse  than  all,  there 
was  no  bright,  glad,  eager  little  face  to  welcome  him, 
to  worship  him,  to  make  him  feel  that  to  one,  at  leastr 
on  earth  he  was  a  god. 

Instead  of  all  this,  there  was  the  cold,  damp  room, 
that  struck  a  chill  to  his  heart,  the  blackened  grate,. 


294  THB   UNLOVED   WIFE 

the  Jittered  table,  chairs  and  carpet,  over  which  were 
widely  strewn  books,  journals,  letters,  pamphlets,  and 
waste  paper,  all  well  peppered  with  dust,  soot  and 
ashes,  that  had  been  blown  down  by  the  high  wind 
into  the  cold  hearth  that  was  so  near  the  roof  of  the 
house  and  the  top  of  the  chimney. 

It  was  too  late  to  ring  up  a  servant  to  remedy  this, 
so  Hereward,  with  a  grunt  of  disgust,  undressed  and 
went  to  his  comfortless  bed. 

He  had  got  rid  of  Lilith,  the  "midge,"  the  "brainless 
little  idiot  who  would  permit  herself  to  be  fooled  by 
any  fop  who  could  chatter  soft  nonsense  into  her  silly 
ear."  She  wras  two  hundred  miles  away,  exiled  to  the 
lonely  country  house  at  Cloud  Cliffs,  where  she  could 
trouble  him  no  more.  And  he  had  his  own  way!  But 
yet  "he  was  not  happy."  On  the  contrary,  he  felt 
quite  miserable.  He  had  not  anticipated  this  sort  of 
wretchedness. 

Your  average  human  being — yes,  and  often  your 
superior  human  being  as  well — will  blame  everybody 
and  everything  in  the  universe  rather  than  his  own 
dear  self. 

So  Tudor  Hereward,  the  conscientious  Christian,  the 
close  logician,  eloquent  orator  and  eminent  politician, 
lying  on  his  uneasy  couch,  lied  (unconsciously)  to  hii^- 
self  when  he  silently  execrated  "the  low  state  of  social 
life  and  morals  which  left  the  peace  and  honor  of  an 
honest  man  at  the  mercy  of  any  brainless  coxcomb 
who  had  nothing  better  to  do  in  the  world  than  to 
make  mischief." 

Hereward  had  not  slept  since  his  parting  with 
Lilith. 

It  followed,  then,  that  though  he  lay  awake  a  long 
time, 

"Chewing  the  cud  of  bitter  thoughts," 
when  at  length  he  did  fall  asleep,  he  slept  the  dream- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  295 

less  sleep  of  utter  oblivion,  the  last  two  days  being  so 
entirely  blotted  out  of  his  memory  that'  when  he 
awoke  and  missed  Lilith  from  his  side,  and  saw  around 
him  the  cold,  cheerless  and  disorderly  room,  the  recol- 
lection of  his  loss  fell  upon  him  with  the  shock  of  a 
sudden  bereavement. 

He  pulled  his  bell  with  a  sudden  jerk  that  soon 
brought  the  porter  to  the  room. 

The  man,  without  waiting  to  be  blamed — in  words — 
became  profuse  in  apologies. 

Hereward  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
man's  words,  but  got  up  and  began  to  dress  himself. 

Then  he  w-ent  down  to  breakfast;  as  it  was  nine 
o'clock,  he  found  all  the  tables  well  filled.  At  his 
table  he  found  the  old  lady-boarder  who  usually  sat 
there. 

She  welcomed  him  at  once. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Hereward!  I  am  glad  to  see  you  back 
again.  When  did  you  arrive?" 

"Last  evening,  madam." 

"Oh!  And  Mrs.  Hereward — too  much  fatigued  with, 
her  journey  to  appear  this  morning?" 

"Mrs.  Hereward,  madam,  is  at  home,  in  the 
country.  She  will  not  return  here  during  this  season." 

"Oh,  what  a  pity!  Just  as  she  was  beginning  to  be 
known  and  admired  so  much.  What  a  loss  to  society! 
But  I  can  well  believe  that  her  health  required  rest. 
She  has  been  looking  pale  and  ill  of  late.  Take  care 
of  her,  Mr.  Herewrard.  She  is  the  loveliest  woman  I 
have  ever  seen  in  my  life." 

At  dinner — which  on  Sundays  was  earlier  as  well  as 
more  regularly  attended  than  on  week  days,  for  the 
obvious  reason  that  nearly  all  the  boarders  were  with*- 
in — Herewrard  met  many  friends,  and  ran  the  gauntlet 
of  inquiries  about  his  wife — and  these  were  not  merely 
the  usual  polite  formulas,  but  questions  of  real,  per- 
sonal interest. 


296  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

This  also  set  him  to  thinking.  Had  he  underrated 
Lilith?  Had  her  very  devotion  to  him  dwarfed  her  in 
his  estimation?  Was  she — whom  he  had  considered 
at  the  very  best  an  unformed  child  with  crude 
opinions;  one  who  habitually  acted  on  impulse,  and 
who  had  writhin  her,  latent  hereditary  evils  which  only 
required  time  and  temptation  to  develop — was  she,  in- 
deed, one  formed  to  wriu  the  esteem  and  affection,  and 
not  only  those,  but  even  respect  and  admiration,  of 
men  and  women  wrhose  approbation  was  honor? 

On  Monday  morning,  as  he  wras  about  to  leave  his 
room  to  go  to  the  Capitol,  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door, 
followed  by  the  entrance  of  the  little  Frenchwoman 
whom  Lilith  had  engaged  weeks  before  as  their 
laundress. 

She  courtesied,  looked  around,  courtesied  again,  and 
said: 

"Bon  jour,  monsieur.    Ou  done  est  madame?" 

"Madame  is  at  home  in  the  country." 

"He"las!    Je  suis  en  d£sepoir!" 

HerewTard  condescended  to  explain  that  madame 
was  away  to  recruit  her  health;  that  she,  Madame 
Dubois,  should  still  have  the  washing. 

"Even  Lilith's  laundress  grieves  for  her  absence," 
he  said  to  himself.  "Though  that  is  probably  a  matter 
of  self-interest,"  he  added,  grimly. 

Had  he  not  known  her  as  she  really  was?  Had  he 
underrated  her  character  and  ability?  Worse  than 
all,  had  he  wronged  her  by  his  jealousies  and  sus- 
picions? 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  escape  from  these 
questions — to  trample  them  down  and  out. 

It  was  late  when  the  House  adjourned  and  he 
started  to  return  to  his  hotel. 

Then,  as  if  the  phantom  of  his  thought  was  to  pur- 
sue him  in  every  form,  he  w7as  joined  by  his  aged 
friend,  Senator ,  the  same  eminent  statesman  with 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  297 

whom  Lilith  had  walked  and  talked  at  the  President's 
reception. 

" Pleased  to  see  you  in  your  place  to-day.  Never 
would  have  done  for  you  to  be  absent  at  that  debate," 
he  said. 

Hereward  acknowledged  the  implied  compliment 
with  a  bow  and  with  a  few  words  of  deprecation. 

They  talked  of  the  bill  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Senator  said: 

"I  hope  Mrs.  Hereward  is  well." 

"She  is  not  strong.  She  is  at  home  in  the  country," 
replied  Hereward. 

"Indeed!  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that.  Nothing 
serious,  I  hope?" 

"Oh,  no;  nothing  serious  with  her  health.  A  country 
girl  brought  from  the  quiet  life  and  pure  air  of  the 
mountains,  and  plunged  into  the  distractions  and  late 
hours  of  city  life,  must  feel  the  change,  you  under- 
stand," said  Hereward,  in  a  non-committal  way. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,  she  is  better  off  where  she  is,  no 
doubt.  She  is  a  gem,  my  dear  boy — a  gem  of  the 
purest  water.  Where  in  this  imperfect  world  did  you 
discover  such  a  perfect  one?" 

"She  was  a  ward  of  my  father,  brought  up  by  him 
from  her  infancy." 

"Ah!  that  may  account  for  it.  A  nature  fine  by 
inheritance  and  refined  by  training." 

They  had  now  reached  the  hotel,  and  as  the  senator 
uttered  these  last  words  he  bowed  and  walked  on. 

Tudor  Hereward  entered  the  hotel  and  went  up  to 
his  room,  thinking  more  about  his  absent  wife  than 
ever — having  obtained  several  new  views  of  Lilith 
through  other  people's  unprejudiced  eyes. 

He  changed  his  dress  and  went  down  to  dinner, 
where,  as  he  sat  waiting  the  leisure  of  the  waiter, 
he  overheard  some  conversation  destined  to  make  a 
strange,  indelible  impression  on  his  mind. 


298  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Zuniga?  Oh,  lie  lias  left  the  city.  Saw  him  off  my- 
self— yesterday  morning,  in  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio 
express." 

"Queer  fellow!    No  end  of  trouble  to  his  uncle!" 

"So  I've  heard.  Was  it  true  that  at  one  time  he 
actually  joined  a  troupe  of  strolling  players?" 

"Oh,  no!  I  fancy  not  so  bad  as  that,  though  he  is 
eccentric  enough,  to  be  sure!  Here,  waiter!" 

And  the  talk  turned  abruptly  from  Zuniga  to  the 
question  of  "Julien"  or  "mock  turtle." 

Here  was  food  for  thought.  Were  Ancillon  and 
Zuniga  one  and  the  same  being?  Did  Lilith  know 
them  to  be  one?  Had  the  fellow  flirted  with  the 
simple  country  girl,  in  both  characters?  Had  she  en- 
couraged this?  If  so,  then  Lilith  was  more  deceitful 
than  he  had  ever  suspected  her  to  be.  No  doubt  of  it, 
since  she  had  deceived  not  only  himself,  but  all  their 
world,  into  believing  her  to  be  one  of  the  most  excel- 
lent of  the  earth. 

Hereward  had  determined  to  devote  this  evening  to 
preparing  a  speech  which  should  be  as  a  thunderbolt 
to  destroy  that  obnoxious  bill  and  overwhelm  its  sup- 
porters. 

He  went  to  his  room  and  set  to  work;  but  it  was  a 
long  while  before  his  strength  of  will  and  power  of 
concentration  enabled  him  to  grasp  and  hold  control 
of  the  subject. 

It  was  so  near  morning  when  he  finished  his  work 
that  he  only  threw  himself  on  the  outside  of  his  bed 
to  take  an  hour  of  needful  rest. 

Nevertheless,  being  so  worn  out  in  body  and  mind, 
he  fell  fast  asleep  and  slept  on  for  several  hours,  and 
until  a  knock  at  the  door  aroused  him. 

He  started  up,  collected  his  scattered  faculties,  and 
opened  the  door. 

"Your  letters,  sir,"  said  the  porter,  putting  about 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  299 

half  a  peck  of  them  on  the  table  and  then  going  to  the 
grate  to  attend  to  the  fire. 

Hereward  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it  was 
nine  o'clock. 

He  had  overslept  himself  to  an  unprecedented 
extent. 

He  made  his  toilet  in  haste,  went  downstairs,  got  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  returned  to  his  room. 

It  had  been  put  into  some  order  and  left. 

He  locked  the  door  and  sat  down  to  his  correspon- 
dence, having  two  hours  to  devote  to  that  duty  before 
it  should  be  necessary  for  him  to  leave  for  the  Capitol. 

The  first  letter  that  he  took  up,  however,  was  fated 
so  to  fix  his  attention  as  to  prevent  his  going  any  far- 
ther into  his  correspondence  that  day. 

The  first  thing  that  attracted  his  attention  about  it 
was  the  red-lettered  stamp  of  the  post-office  printed 
diagonally  across  the  front — 

"FORWARDED." 

He  looked  at  the  first  postmark,  "Washington;"  at 
the  second,  "Frosthill."  He  thought  it  was  for  him- 
self; for  he  had  only  seen  "Tudor  Hereward,"  written 
in  a  large,  masculine  hand — two  letters  of  the  heavy 
stamp  having  blotted  out  the  "Mrs." 

"Ah!  this  letter  followed  me  to  Frosthill  and  then 
back  again.  Who  could  have  written  to  me  at  Frost- 
hill?  Some  one  who  heard  that  I  had  gone  down  there 
and  who  had  'an  axe  to  grind'  in  that  neighborhood,  I 
suppose,"  said  Hereward,  as  he  opened  the  envelope 
and  drew  out  the  letter. 

Now,  think  of  the  state  of  mind  in  which  the  man 
wras;  remember  the  conversation  he  had  heard  at  the 
dinner  table  of  the  hotel,  and  then  judge  of  the  feel- 
ings with  which  he  must  have  read  the  following 
letter: 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE 

"WASHINGTON,  March  10,  18 — . 

"MY  DAKLING  LILITH:  I  have  just  ascertained  that 
you  are  again  relegated  to  the  retirement  of  Cloud 
Cliffs  where,  languishing  alone,  you  play  'Marianna  in 
the  Moated  Grange;'  'The  Lady  of  Shalot;'  'Viola'— 

'Letting  concealment  like  the  worm  i'  the  bud 
Prey  on  her  damask  cheek.' 

Like,  in  short,  any  other  forlorn  damsel  or  deserted 
dame  in  fable  or  poetry.  So  now,  my  Lilith,  I  propose 
to  take  advantage  of  the  old  man's  absence  and  run 
down  to  Cloud  Cliffs  to  see  you,  and  cheer  you  up. 
You  will  get  this  letter  on  Monday  morning.  Expect 
to  see  me  on  Monday  evening. 

"Your  affectionate  and  devoted 

"ANCILLON." 

We  cannot  attempt  to  describe  the  mood  of  mind  in 
which  Hereward  finished  this  letter.  Let  it  suffice  to 
say  that  it  was  a  mood  in  which  honest  and  honorable 
men,  nay,  Christian  and  religious  men,  who  never 
dreamed  of  breaking  the  law  of  God,  have  been 
tempted  to  commit  murder. 

Forgotten  was  that  important  bill  before  the  House; 
forgotten  the  coming  debate;  forgotten  his  great 
speech;  forgotten  all  the  duties  of  his  position;  for- 
gotten his  ambition. 

Remembered  only,  imaginary  wrong,  dishonor  and 
vengeance. 

With  a  face  as  white  and  grim  as  death  and  the 
grave,  he  arose,  prepared  for  a  sudden  journey,  and 
strode  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 

Those  who  met  him  on  the  avenue,  and  spoke  to 
him,  afterwards  reported  that  he  strode  on  without 
answering  or  seeming  even  to  see  or  to  hear  them. 

He  caught  his  train  by  a  hair's  breadth  of  time,  and 
with  murder  in  his  heart,  sped  on  to  his  home  in  West 
Virginia.  God  have  mercy  and  save  him. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  301 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 

DOOMED 

Thou  hast  done  well  to  tell  thy  heart, 
That  good  lies  in  the  bitterest  part, 
And  thou  wilt  profit  by  griefs  smart. 

But  bitter  hours  come  to  all, 

When  even  truths  like  these  will  patl, 

Sick  hearts  for  humbler  comfort  call. 

Then  I  would  have  thee  strive  to  see 
That  good  and  evil  come  to  thee 
As  one  of  a  great  family. 

— Adelaide  Anne  Proctor. 

MEANWHILE,  that  same  fated  Tuesday  morning 
which  saw  Tudor  Hereward  start  on  his  sudden, 
vengeful  journey  from  Washington  City  to  West  Vir- 
ginia, saw  Lilith  rise  from  her  restless  bed,  pale, 
anxious  and  foreboding. 

Her  fitful  sleep  had  been  troubled  by  dark  dreams, 
whose  outlines  she  could  not  recall  with  any  distinct- 
ness, but  which  had  left  upon  her  spirit  a  vague  horror 
of  darkness,  like  the  shadow  of  approaching  calamity. 

Nancy,  ever  vigilant,  wraited  for  no  summons,  but 
\  hearing  her  mistress  move  and  sigh,  entered  her  room 
to  assist  in  her  morning  toilet. 

Lilith,  still  with  the  black  cloud  lowering  over  her 
spirit,  like  the  forerunner  of  the  storm,  went  down- 
stairs, followed  by  her  faithful  servant. 

She  entered  the  bright,  warm,  attractive  little  par- 
lor, where  the  clear,  fragrant  cedar  fire  was  burning, 
with  an  elegant  little  breakfast-table  and  a  comfort- 
able arm-chair  drawn  up  before  it. 


302  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Nancy  brought  in  the  breakfast,  and  stood  waiting 
and  chatting,  with  the  privilege  of  a  favored  servant, 
while  her  mistress  tried  to  eat. 

"  'Deed  I  reckon  as  Alick  has  'mancipated  de  plan- 
tation, sure  enuff  now!  He's  t'reatened  to  do  it  off  en 
enuff,  an'  now  I  reckon  as  he's  gone  an'  done  it." 

"Has  he  not  come  back,  then?" 

"No,  honey,  not  he!" 

"Well,  I  suppose  he  will  come  back  when  he  feels 
disposed,"  said  Lilith,  indulgently. 

"I  reckon  as  he  has  gone  ober  to  Broad  Manners  to 
hire  hisse'f  to  Ole  Mr.  Jab  Jordon.  I  don't  call  dat 
place  Broad  Manners  myse'f !  I  calls  it  Bad  Manners, 
w'ich  is  de  properes'  name  for  it.  An'  ef  Alick  hires 
long  ob  ole  Mr.  Jab  Jordon,  he'll  wish  he  hadn't,  dat's 
all!  He'll  wish  hisse'f  dead,  he  will!  Yes,  he'll  wish 
de  debbil  had  got  him  'fo'  ebber  Ole  Jab  Jordon  did! 
Hush,  honey!  Nobody  in  dis  worl'  can  do  nuffin  with 
Ole  Jab  'cept  'tis  Mrs.  Jab!  An'  she  can't  do  much 
wid  him!  How  an'  ebber,  I  s'pects  w'en  de  baby 
'ribes  dat  will  humanate  him  a  little!" 

"The  baby!"  exclaimed  Lilith,  surprised  into  taking 
an  interest  in  Nancy's  gossip. 

"Yes,  honey,  de  heir  w'ich  dey  expects  at  Broad 
Manners.  I  hope  as  it  won't  be  de  heir  to  Bad  Man- 
ners as  well.  'Deed  do  I!" 

"When  is  this  heir  expected  to  arrive?" 

"Airly  in  de  summer.  So  I  hear  f'om  ole  Aunt 
Molly,  w'ich  is  de  housekeeper  at  de  place." 

Lilith  said  no  more.  She  had  finished  her  pretense 
at  breakfast.  Leaning  back  wearily  in  her  chair,  she 
inquired : 

"Has  Stephen  been  to  the  post-office?" 

"He's  gone,  but  he  hasn't  come  back  yet,"  replied 
Nancy,  as  she  took  the  breakfast  service  away. 

As  soon  as  the  table  was  arranged,  and  covered  with 
its  red  cloth,  and  the  books  and  nick-nacks  were  re- 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  303 

placed  upon  it,  Lilith  opened  her  work-box  and  took 
out  some  needle-work  upon  which  to  employ  herself. 

She  sat  there  sewing  in  solitude  for  more  than  an 
hour,  and  until  she  was  interrupted  by  the  re-entrance 
of  Xancy,  who  said,  apologetically: 

"Yer  know  I  doan  off  en  'low  yer  to  be  boddered  wid 
beggars,  Miss  Lilif,  w'ich,  praise  be  de  Lord,  dere  ain't 
many  ob  dat  sort  'roun'  yere,  nohow,  but  dis  po'  young 
gal  do  look  so  pitiful  I  couldn'  help  comin'  to  tell  yer 
'bout  her;  'sides  w'ich,  I  fought  it  would  'vert  yer  to 
see  her  an'  do  somefin'  for  her." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Lilith,  eagerly  catching  at  the  op- 
portunity to  do  good  to  some  fellow-being,  and  never 
dreaming  of  the  grave  consequences  involved  in  her 
good  intentions.  "Yes,  Nancy.  Bring  the  poor  crea- 
ture in  here  to  me.  A  young  girl  did  you  say  she 
was?" 

"A  little  young  gal,  'bout  sixteen  or  sebenteen  years 
ob  age,  I  reckon.  But  she's  de  pitifullest  po'  fing  as 
ebber  you  see." 

Nancy  went  out  and  soon  returned  with  the  young 
woman  in  question. 

Lilith  looked  up,  to  see  standing  before  her  a  slight 
girl,  half  clothed  in.  thin  and  tattered  black  clothes, 
with  an  old  and  worn  red  crape  shawl  thrown  over  her 
head  and  shoulders;  her  small  feet  in  broken  shoes, 
without  stockings. 

Lilith  shuddered  to  see  so  frail  a  creature  so  thinly 
clad  in  such  freezing  weather. 

"Come  to  the  fire  at  once,  dear.  Sit  down  here," 
said  the  young  lady,  tenderly,  as  she  drew  a  low, 
cushioned  chair  to  the  corner. 

The  shivering  girl  courtesied  and  took  the  seat,  sit- 
ting modestly,  deprecatingly,  upon  the  very  edge. 

"You  are  tired  and  cold.  Lean  back;  put  your  feet 
to  the  fire;  try  to  make  yourself  comfortable,  dear," 
said  Lilith. 


304  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

The  poor  young  stranger's  gypsy  face  broke  into  a 
faint  but  grateful  smile,  as  she  reclined  in  the  seat  and 
put  her  small  feet  to  the  fire,  which  soon  drew  from 
her  sodden  shoes  little  clouds  of  steam. 

"Poor  little  soul!  how  cold  and  wet  you  are!  Nancy, 
go  first  and  bring  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cracker  for  her 
to  take  while  you  are  preparing  something  better." 

Nancy,  really  as  much  interested  as  her  mistress, 
went  out,  and  Lilith  turned  to  the  poor  young  waif. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  creature,  notwithstanding  the 
pinched  poverty  and  pallor  of  her  face.  The  old  red 
shawl  had  fallen  from  her  figure,  revealing  a  shapely 
little  head,  covered  thickly  with  fine,  jet  black,  crisply 
curling  hair;  a  small  face,  with  delicate  features  and 
dark  complexion,  lighted  up  by  a  pair  of  large,  bril- 
liant black  eyes,  to  which  famine  lent  its  fiercer 
light. 

Not  until  Nancy  had  come  in  with  a  glass  of  rich  old 
port  wine  and  a  plate  of  crackers  and  had  gone  out 
again  to  prepare  more  substantial  food,  and  the  fam- 
ished girl  had  eaten  the  crackers  and  drank  the  wine, 
that  sent  a  glow  into  her  pallid  cheeks,  did  Lilith  ven- 
ture to  question  the  stranger.  And  even  then  the 
young  lady  only  spoke  that  she  might  know  whether 
the  latter  were  in  need  of  sympathy  and  counsel  as 
well  as  of  more  substantial  help. 

"You  are  a  stranger  in  this  neighborhood,  I  think," 
said  Lilith. 

"Yes,  lady,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  soft,  rich,  voice, 
and  a  slightly  foreign  accent. 

"Have  you  friends  here?" 

"No,  madame." 

"Forgive  me  if  I  question  you.  It  is  not  from  sus- 
picion or  from  curiosity,  indeed,  but  from  real  interest 
in  you  and  a  deep  desire  to  assist  you,"  said  Lilith, 
gently. 

"Madame  is  too  very  good  to  care  for  such  as  I.    Let 


THE    UNLOVED    WIFE  205 

madame  ask  what  she  will.  I  will  answer  zee  holy 
truth." 

"Where,  then,  is  your  home?" 

The  girl  lifted  her  large  sad  eyes  to  the  lady's  face 
with  a  wistful  look,  and  then  lifting  them  towards 
heaven,  she  raised  her  hand  and  pointed,  saying: 

"Zere,  zere  is  my  home,  when  my  penance  is 
finissed." 

"And  have  you  no  home  here  in  this  world?" 

"No,  meeladie.    Lucille  has  no  home  here." 

"Are  you  an  orphan,  then,  Lucille?" 

"Yes,  meeladie." 

"Poor  child!  Well,  you  shall  not  want  a  home  or 
friend  henceforth." 

"Meeladie  is  too  good  to  poor  Lucille." 

"Will  you  mind  telling  me  how  you  came  to  be  here 
in  this  strange  neighborhood,  and  alone?"  inquired 
Lilith. 

"Viz  mon  mari  I  come." 

"Your  husband!  Are  you  married?"  exclaimed 
Lilith,  in  surprise. 

"Oui,  madame." 

"Where  is  your  husband  now  that  he  does  not  take 
care  of  you?" 

"He"las7  madame,  I  know  not.  He  left  zee  troupe 
and  left  me." 

"My  poor  girl,  your  husband  belonged  to  the  troupe 
of  traveling  players,  then?" 

"Yes,  meeladie,  he  was  of  zee  troupe — Monsieur 
Ancillon,  Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon.  He"las,  madame, 
what  is  it  then?  And  what  have  I  said?"  inquired  the 
stranger,  in  alarm,  as  Lilith,  with  an  exclamation  of 
horror,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Monsieur  Alfred  Ancillon!  Did  you  say  Monsieur 
Alfred  Ancillon?"  breathlessly  demanded  Lilith. 

"Yes,  meeladie! — he — " 

"And  he  was  your  husband?" 


306  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Oui,  madame." 

"And  he  left  you  in  poverty,  in  rags,  homeless, 
friendless,  starving,  freezing?  I  don't  believe  it!  I 
can't  believe  it!"  exclaimed  Lilith,  vehemently. 

The  stranger  girl  looked  hurt,  and  answered  with  a 
gentle  dignity  which  for  a  moment  raised  her  above 
her  rags  and  squalor. 

"I  tell  madame  zee  holy  truth.  I  force  not  my  grief 
on  zee  notice  of  madame.  Madame  to  question  does 
condescend.  Lucille  answers  viz  zee  holy  truth.  If 
madame  vill  not  believe,  it  is  of  not  importe.  Nozing 
is  of  much  importe  in  zis  world  of  sadness." 

"My  poor  girl,"  said  Lilith,  touched  by  her  manner, 
"I  am  sure  that  you  believe  you  are  telling  me  the 
truth.  But  it  cannot  be  truth.  There  is  some  great 
mistake  somewhere.  I  know  Monsieur  Ancillon  well. 
He  would  never  have  been  so  wicked  as  to  leave  you 
so  destitute." 

"Madame  must  keep  her  opinion.  I  veel  not  dees- 
pute  it." 

"Will  you  tell  me  how,  and  when,  and  why  he — your 
husband — left  you?" 

"Zee  troupe  vent  on  vizout  him,  madame.  He  stay 
behind.  Zen  he  go,  he  leave  me,  I  know  it  not  ven  I 
wake  on  zee  morning.  I  look  zat  he  vill  come  back; 
but  he  comes  not.  I  haff  no  money.  I  valk  on  zee 
railroad  line  to  Blackveele  to  zee  troupe.  But  he  is  no 
viz  zem.  Zey  vill  not  haff  me.  To  sing  or  to  dance  I 
know  not.  So  zey  vill  not  haff  me.  I  valk  all  zee  way 
back  to  dis  Frosveele.  He  may  perhaps  be  here  wait- 
ing1 for  me.  But  he  is  not  here.  I  lodge  viz  one 
pauvre  femme,  one  black  madame  in  a  little  housie 
in  zee  trees.  Dis  was  two  monze  gone,  madame.  I 
haff  no  money,  mais  I  gif  her  my  clothes — now  one 
piece,  zen  anoder;  so,  and  see  sell  zem  to  buy  food  for 
see  and  me.  But  zee  black  madame  fell  seeke,  and  my 


THE    UNLOVED   WIFE  307 

clothes — zey  is  all  gone  but  as  you  sail  see,  meeladie. 
Behold!" 

And  the  poor  girl  arose  and  displayed  her  tatters. 

"Yezdy  day  no  food  in  zee  leetle  housie.  Ziz  mor- 
nin'  no  food,  no  fire.  I  go  to  zee  frozen  trees,  I  break 
brush  and  breeng  it  in  and  mek  zee  fire.  Zen  I  come 
out  to  get  food.  I  come  here  to  zee  goode  madame. 
Voila  tout." 

"I  will  see  that  you  and  your  friend  are  made  com- 
fortable. You  shall  want  no  more.  I  am  very  glad 
that  you  came  to  me.  I  shall  be  so  happy  to  relieve 
you.  But  here  comes  my  maid  with  your  dinner. 
When  you  have  eaten  it  I  will  see  that  a  basket  is 
filled  for  your  friend,"  said  Lilith,  as  Nancy  entered 
with  a  large  waiter,  on  which  was  arranged  all  the 
accessories  of  a  comfortable  meal. 

Lilith  arose  and  cleared  the  little  table  of  books  and 
work-box.  And  when  Nancy  had  arranged  the  meal 
upon  it,  Lilith  told  Lucille  to  draw  up  her  resting- 
chair  and  partake. 

"Poor,  starved  chile!  how  she  do  gormandize!"  was 
the  mental  comment  of  Nancy,  as  at  a  sign  from  her 
mistress  she  left  the  room. 

And  she  did.  She  literally  cleaned  the  platters,  con- 
sumed everything  that  was  set  before  her. 

Lilith  would  willingly  have  ordered  another  relay  of 
all  the  viands,  but  she  really  feared  the  poor,  fam- 
ished creature,  who  seemed  to  have  no  control  over 
her  abnormal  appetite,  might  make  herself  ill.  So 
when  all  the  dishes  were  cleaned  out,  Lilith  rang  for 
Nancy  to  take  away  the  service,  and  then  said  to  her 
humble  guest: 

"If  you  will  come  upstairs  with  me  I  will  try  to  find 
something  to  make  you  comfortable." 

Lucille  arose  and  followed  her  benefactress.  Lilith 
led  the  way  into  her  own  bed-chamber,  locked  the 
door,  lest  she  should  be  interrupted  in  her  almsgiving, 


308  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

and  then  made  the  poor  girl  sit  down  in  the  arm-chair 
while  she  herself  unlocked  wardrobes  and  bureaus, 
and  selected  from  them  the  needful  warm  clothing  for 
the  stranger. 

Lilith  had  but  a  very  limited  stock  of  wearing  ap- 
parel, and  none  that  were  well  worn.  She  bought  but 
few  dresses,  and  gave  them  away  before  they  were 
half  worn  out.  So  it  followed  that  all  the  articles 
selected  by  her  for  this  poor  girl  were  in  excellent  con- 
dition. Warm  flannel  skirts  and  hosiery,  a  thick, 
"black  serge  suit,  a  black  waterproof  cloak,  with  large 
•cape,  hood  and  sleeves,  a  pair  of  thick  walking  boots, 
and  a  pair  of  gloves, 

Lilith  tied  all  in  a  bundle,  with  the  exception  of  the 
cloak  and  the  shoes  and  stockings,  which  she  insisted 
that  the  girl  should  put  on  then  and  there. 

When  this  arrangement  was  completed,  and  the  old, 
useless  shoes — with  the  senseless  acquisitiveness  of 
the  poor  in  hoarding  all  their  possessions — were 
crammed  into  the  bundle,  Lilith  put  a  five-dollar  note 
in  the  hand  of  the  girl,  and  then  led  the  way  down 
to  the  little  parlor,  where  Nancy,  according  to  order, 
was  waiting  with  a  large  basket  of  provisions  for  the 
girl  and  her  sick  friend. 

"Now,  my  poor  child,  I  think  you  had  better  wait 
here,  until  my  coachman  comes  back  from  the  post- 
office,  when  I  can  send  you  and  your  parcels  home  in 
the  pony  carriage,"  said  Lilith,  kindly. 

"Oh!  meeladie,  a  tousand  tanks!  You  heap  good  in 
good!  But,  meeladie,  zee  way  it  is  not  far.  Over  zee 
leetle  point,  over  zee  leetle  riviere.  I  can  valk,  tres 
bien,"  replied  Lucille,  who  looked  much  brighter  and 
stronger  since  her  rest  and  her  meal  by  the  warm  fire. 

"True  as  I  lib,  Miss  Lilif,  she  must  lib  'long  ob  ole 
Aunt  Adah,  dere  by  de  crik,  right  back  ob  our  orchid! 
'Tain'  nuffin  ob  no  walk,  an'  I  kin  tote  dis  basket  ob 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  309 

wittals  along  ob  her,  an'  see  de  ole  woman,  an'  fine 
out  how  she  is,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"I  wish  you  would,  Nancy.  And  if  the  poor  creature 
needs  medical  treatment  I  will  send  for  Dr.  Kerr  to 
come  to  her.  It  is  very  strange  that  any  human  being 
should  suffer  want  so  near  our  house.  How  should  it 
happen,  Nancy?" 

"Hi,  Miss  Lilif,  how  I  know?  I  ain't  been  across  dat 
crik  fer  mont's  and  mont's.  Berry  wrong  in  Aunt 
Adah  not  to  let  us  know  nuffin  'bout  her  sitteration! 
I  calls  it  flyin'— I  do,  indeed— downright  flyin',  "  said 
Nancy,  as  she  took  up  the  heavy  basket. 

"Bon  soir,  madame!  May  angels  guard  you!  May 
zee  Holy  Virgin  love  you!  May  our  Lord  bless  you! 
Goode-night,  meeladie!"  said  Lucille,  seizing  Lilith's 
hand  and  kissing  it  between  every  sentence. 

Nancy  only  stopped  to  get  a  heavy  shawl  to  throw 
over  her  head,  and  then  she  followed  the  young  for- 
eigner out  of  the  parlor. 

Lilith  sat  down  in  a  great  trouble. 

The  astounding  announcement  of  the  girl  concern- 
ing Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon  had  really  stunned  her  into 
insensibility  as  to  the  real  meaning  and  bearing  of  the 
asserted  fact. 

The  immediate  needs  of  the  poor  girl  had  occupied 
Lilith's  hands  and  feet,  and,  perhaps,  her  most  exter- 
nal thoughts;  but  underneath  all  was  the  conscious- 
ness of  a  dull  pain — a  deep  burden  of  pain — that  was 
becoming  more  poignant  every  moment. 

Was  it  probable — was  it  even  possible — that  Alfred 
Ancillon  could  have  been  guilty  of  the  atrocity  of  de- 
serting this  young  wife  in  utter  destitution,  and  in  a 
strange  land? 

As  she  thought  out  the  subject  she  came  to  the  gen- 
erous conclusion  that  though  there  might  be  mystery 
in  this  matter — as  there  was  a  great  cloud  0f  mystery 


310  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

all  around  Mr.  Alfred  Ancillon — there  could  be  no 
guilt. 

Then,  as  she  dismissed  this  subject  from  her  mind, 
it  seemed  only  to  make  room  for  the  entrance  of  a  yet 
more  disturbing  one — the  letter!  Here  ward  must 
have  received  it  by  this  time!  And  if  he  should  have 
opened  and  read  it!  Oh,  what,  what  could  he  think 
of  her?  What  could  any  man  think  of  his  wife  under 
the  same  circumstances? 

Her  torturing  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  re- 
turn of  Nancy,  who  broke  suddenly  into  the  room  ex- 
claiming: 

"Well,  Miss  Lilif,  I  done  been  an'  seen  ole  Aunt 
Adah!  Lor'!  Dere  ain't  nuffin  'tall  de  matter  wid  dat 
ole  creetur  but  de  rheumatiz!  She's  crippled  up  wid 
de  rheumatiz  an'  it's  a  good  fing  as  she's  got  dat  dere 
young  w'ite  gal  to  take  care  ob  her!  I  done  sent  Cely 
ober  dere  wid  some  opydildock,  an'  I  'spects  she'll  be 
all  right  ag'in  w'en  de  wedder's  settled." 

"I  hope  so.  But  you  must  look  after  her  well, 
Nancy." 

"Fac',  Miss  Lilif!  Sure's  yer  born!  Dere!  Dere's 
Steve  at  las'!  Now,  wot  yer  got  to  say  for  yerse'f 
stayin'  all  dis  time?  Oh,  won't  I  be  glad  w'en  de 
marster  comes  home  for  good  to  regellate  yer  all! 
Been  drinkin'  pizen  whiskey  at  Drummond's  grog- 
shop; or  spendin'  yer  time  foolin'  'long  o'  dat  yaller 
gal,  Flora?"  demanded  the  housekeeper. 

"I  come  back  soon's  ebber  I  could,  Miss  Lilif!    Yes, 

'  ma'am,  I  did,  indeed!    W'ich  I  had  to  wait  for  de  mail 

to  come  in,  w'ich  de  train  were  two  hours  'hine-han'." 

"No  accident,  I  hope?"  said  Lilith,  anxiously. 

"No,  ma'am — w'ich  I  meant  to  say  no  sarous  one — 
on'y  de  freight  train  run  ober  de  dead  tree  wot  fell 
'cross  de  track  an'  were  pitched  ober — leastways  de 
engine  were,  I  beliebe,  or  somefin'  or  yudder  wot  made 
a  'struction  on  de  yoad;  but  no  one  were  hurt." 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  311 

''Well,  I  am  glad  it  was  no  worse!  You  can  go  now, 
Stephen,"  said  the  young  lady. 

Lilith  drew  the  key  from  her  pocket  and  unlocked 
the  mail,  and  turned  it  upside  down. 

Only  one  poor  little  letter  dropped  out. 

She  snatched  it  up,  hoping  it  might  be  from  her  hus- 
band. But,  no!  The  handwriting  was  strange  to  her. 
She  opened  the  envelope  and  turned  to  the  signature: 
"Alfred  Ancillon." 

He  had  never  written  to  her,  before  that  luckless 
letter  which  had  gone  to  Washington  and  escaped  her 
sight.  So  that  she  had  never  seen  his  handwriting 
until  this  moment. 

With  a  sinking  of  the  heart  that  now  always  at- 
tended the  thought  of  the  handsome  and  eccentric 
stranger,  she  opened  the  letter. 

It  was  as  follows: 

"FROSTVILLE,  March  — ,  18 — . 

"MY  DEAREST  DEAR  LILITH:  I  am  going  away  from 
you  now,  for  a  certainty.  I  am  going  to  Chicago.  I 
write  only  to  take  leave  of  you,  and  to  tell  you  that 
you  may  safely  direct  a  letter  to  me — to  the  Chicago 
post-office  until  called  for.  Tell  me,  when  you  write, 
where  I  may  safely  direct  a  letter  to  you.  Frosthill 
will  not  do,  of  course.  What  do  you  say  to  Eyrie, 
Tip  Top,  Blackville?  Either  of  these  would  do,  I 
think.  If  you  should  see  or  hear  anything  of  a  little 
French  gypsy  who  answers  to  the  name  of  Lucille,  be 
good  to  her,  for  my  sake.  I  hear  that  the  troupe  has 
dropped  her.  Hoping  to  hear  from  you  on  my  arrival 
at  Chicago,  I  remain,  ever  and  ever,  my  darling  of 
darlings,  your  own  "ANCILLON." 

Lilith  read  this  letter  to  the  end,  feeling  more  per- 
plexed and  troubled  than  she  had  felt  before  in  all  her 
life.  She  could  not  think.  She  was  past  thinking. 


312  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

She  sat  before  the  fire,  staring  at  the  lines  before  her, 
absorbed  and  dazed,  until  a  movement  in  the  room, 
which  might  have  been  Nancy  or  Steve,  aroused  her 
from  her  trance  of  dismay. 

"This  must  be  destroyed  at  once,"  she  muttered  to 
herself,  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  hold  the  letter 
over  the  blaze. 

But  at  that  instant  her  wrist  was  seized  in  a  firm 
grip,  and  the  letter  withdrawn  from  her  hand. 

With  a  start  she  turned,  and  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  her  husband. 

She  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  hid  her  face  in  the 
cushions  of  her  chair. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

DRIVEN    TO    DESPERATION 

"DETECTED!"  said  Tudor  Hereward,  in  a  voice  of 
cold  scorn  that  revealed  nothing  of  the  fire  of  jealous 
rage  that  was  burning  and  consuming  his  heart. 

She  answered  not  a  word  in  self-defence.  She  could 
not  speak,  but  sat  cowering  and  trembling,  with  her 
head  buried  in  the  cushions  of  her  chair. 

He  glanced  at  the  letter  in  his  hand.  First  at  its 
commencement,  "My  Dearest  Dear  Lilith,"  then  at  its 
end,  "Ever  and  ever,  my  darling  of  darlings,  your  own 
Ancillon." 

Then  he  went  and  turned  the  key  in  the  door, 
stepped  back  to  Lilith's  side,  and  said,  in  a  low,  hard 
tone: 

"Look  up  at  me." 

She  raised  her  pale  and  distressed  face,  lifting  her 
large  brown  eyes  appealingly,  sorrowfully  and  prayer- 
fully to  his. 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  313 

"I  am  going  to  read  this  letter  from  your  lover  to 
yourself.  I  am  going  to  read  it  aloud,"  he  said,  with 
cold  cruelty. 

"Oh,  Tudor!"  she  tried  to  say,  though  her  voice  was 
broken  with  anguish,  "he  is  not  my  lover!  As  the 
Lord  hears  me  speak  the  truth,  as  I  hope  for  salva- 
tion, he  is  not  my  lover!" 

"BE  SILENT!"  he  thundered,  losing  his  self-command. 
"I  will  not  suffer  you  to  utter  falsehoods,  perjuries, 
blasphemies,  in  my  presence!  Listen  to  this  letter, 
and  be  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  dishonor!" 

Lilith  sank  shuddering  to  the  floor  and  hid  her  head 
on  the  seat  of  her  chair,  looking  in  her  pitiable  terror 
and  dismay  the  very  image  of  detected  guilt. 

Hereward,  by  an  effort  of  his  strong  will,  recovered 
his  self-control,  and  with  cruel  coldness  read  the  fatal 
letter  slowly  and  distinctly  to  its  end. 

Then  deliberately  folding  it  up  and  carefully  putting 
it  away  in  his  pocket,  he  said,  with  constrained 
quietness: 

"You  know  the  usual  end  of  these  disgraceful 
affairs.  What  have  you  to  say?" 

She  raised  her  agonized  face  once  more,  raised  her 
imploring  eyes  to  his,  clasped  and  wrung  her  hands, 
and  answered,  with  impassioned  earnestness: 

"Oh,  Tudor!  I  am  true  to  you!  I  am  true  to  you! 
There  is  not  a  pulse  in  my  heart  that  does  not  beat  for 
you!  Oh,  there  is  not  a  breath  of  my  life  that  is  not 
an  aspiration  for  you!  The  Lord,  who  hears  me,  knows 
I  speak  the  truth!" 

He  looked  down  on  her,  his  lips  writhing  with  unut- 
terable scorn,  as  he  answered: 

"I  thought  you  were  a  child,  and  I  was  half  inclined 
to  pity,  even  while  I  despised  you!  But — you  never 
were  a  child!  You  were  born  with  inherited  evils  in 
which  childhood  could  have  no  part — evils  which  have 
made  you,  at  seventeen  years  of  age,  a  woman,  so  old 


314  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

in  sin,  so  sharp  in  deception,  so  hardened  in  false- 
hood, that  I  can  feel  no  mercy  for  you  and  shall  show 
no  mercy  to  you!  Be  sure  of  that." 

"Tudor,"  she  said,  slowing  rising  from  her  abashed 
position  and  reseating  herself  in  her  chair,  while  a 
certain  gentle  dignity  was  faintly  perceptible  through 
all  her  deep  distress — "Tudor,  I  have  not  asked,  and 
do  not  want,  your  mercy,  if  I  have  lost  your  love." 

"Lost  my  love!  Ha,  ha!"  he  answered,  laughing 
insultingly.  "Why,  you  never  had  my  love!  No!  I 
thank  God  I  have  not  that  humiliation  to  blush  for. 
That  dishonor,  that  deep  degradation  does  not  cling  to 
me.  I  never  loved  you!" 

"You  —  never — cared  —  for  —  me?"  breathed  the 
young  wife,  in  broken  tones,  and  with  a  dazed  expres- 
sion. 

"Never!"  he  answered,  savagely — "Never!  I  thank 
the  Lord!" 

"Then  why,  oh,  why  did  you  marry  me?"  she  mur- 
mured, in  heartbroken  anguish. 

"Why?  To  please  my  dying  father!  You  had  played 
your  game  well — for  a  child!  You  had  played  upon 
the  feelings  of  that  honest  gentleman,  the  late  Major 
Hereward.  You  had  made  him  believe  that  you  were 
worthy  to  be  his  daughter,  the  wife  of  his  son.  And — 
in  some  way — had  given  him  the  impression  that  you 
had  honored  his  son  with  your  love — ha,  ha,  ha !  And 
so  he  asked  me,  as  a  last  earthly  concession,  to  marry 
you.  And  so,  to  please  my  dying  father,  I  made  the 
greatest  sacrifice  ever  required  of  man.  I  gave  you  my 
hand;  but  it  was  my  hand  only." 

"Oh!  if  I  had  but  known  the  truth!  If  I  had  but 
known  the  truth!"  wailed  the  miserable  young  wife. 

"Or  if  I  had  but  known  it!"  mocked  Hereward. 
"But  at  all  events  we  both  know  it  now,  when  it  is 
too  late,"  he  added,  bitterly. 

"And  our  dear  father  meant  all  for  the  best!    He 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  315 

wished  only  the  happiness  of  his  children,"  muttered 
Lilith,  as  if  appealing  to  redeem  his  memory  from 
reproach. 

"I  forbid  you  to  speak  of  Major  Hereward,  or  even 
to  allude  to  him!  You  are  unworthy  to  breathe  his 
name!"  exclaimed  Tudor  Hereward,  again  losing  his 
self-command. 

Lilith  bowed  her  head,  almost,  it  seemed,  as  if  in 
assent  to  this;  for  her  veneration  for  her  foster-father 
was  very  great. 

"But  you  are  shifting,  evading,  prevaricating!  And 
you  shall  do  so  no  longer!"  he  added,  with  stern  de- 
termination. "I  told  you  that  dishonor,  such  as  you 
have  brought  upon  yourself  and  me,  can  have  but  one 
termination.  I  ask  you  what  you  could  advance 
against  such  convicting  evidence  as  the  letter  I  have 
just  read.  And  now  I  have  something  else  to  tell  you! 
Another  letter,  a  still  more  damning  letter  than  this, 
has  fallen  into  my  hands!  Look  up!  Listen!  I  am 
about  to  read  it  to  you!" 

"Oh,  no!  pray,  pray  don't!  I  am  not  responsible  for 
that  letter!  Oh,  indeed  I  am  not!" 

"You  cannot  bear  to  listen!  But  you  shall!"  he 
said,  with  cold  and  cruel  scorn,  as  he  drew  Ancillon's 
first  letter  from  his  breast  pocket  and  began  to  read 
it,  while  Lilith  cowered  in  her  chair  and  buried  her 
head  in  its  cushions,  as  if  she  would  have  shut  out  the 
sight  of  her  husband's  terrible  face,  and  the  sound  of 
the  sickening  words  he  read. 

He  read  with  cruel  distinctness  and  deliberation 
when  he  came  to  the  closing  paragraph — 

"So  I  shall  take  advantage  of  the  old  man's  absence, 
and  run  down  there  to  cheer  you  up  a  bit!  You  will 
get  this  letter  on  Monday  morning.  Expect  to  see  me 
on  Monday  evening." 


316  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

Hereward  finished  reading  the  letter. 

Lilith  never  looked  up  from  her  position. 

"Speak!"  he  angrily  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  Tudor!  What  can  I  say?  I  can  say  nothing 
of  any  weight,  against  the  evidence  of  these  letters, 
these  cruel  letters,  for  which  I  am  not  responsible! 
Yet! — yet!  I  declare  before  high  Heaven!  in  the 
presence  of  the  Lord  who  will  be  niy  judge — that  no 
wrong  has  been  done  you — no  wrong  intended  you,  , 
either  by  me  or  by — by — by  any  one  else!"  said  Lilith, 
fearful  of  uttering  the  offensive  name  of  Ancillonj  and 
wringing  her  hands  in  the  extremity  of  her  distress. 

"No  wrong!"  he  exclaimed,  trembling  with  sup- 
pressed rage.  "No  wrong  in  such  letters  as  these, 
addressed  by  that  man  to  you — to  you?" 

"No,  no  wrong,"  she  persisted,  though  in  a  low, 
faint  tone. 

"And  is  that  all  you  have  to  offer  in  justification? 
A  bald,  stupid,  impudent  denial  of  an  evident  fact? 
Nothing  else?" 

"Nothing  else,"  she  confessed,  in  a  voice  of  despair. 

"And  you  expect  me  to  believe  it?" 

"No,  I  expect  nothing,  Tudor,"  she  sighed. 

"By  my  honor,  you  shall  not  call  me  by  my  name!" 
Do  not  dare  to  offend — to  insult  me  in  that  way  again. 
Where  is  that  man  now?"  he  suddenly  burst  forth. 

"I  do  not  know,  sir,"  said  Lilith,  in  a  dying  voice; 
adding,  faintly,  after  a  short  pause:  "You  read  in  that 
last  letter  that  he  was  at  Frosthill  yesterday  morn- 
ing, intending  to  go  to  Chicago.  I  know  no  more  than 
that." 

"He  has  been  here,  however,  according  to  his  own 
appointment?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"On  Monday  afternoon." 

"And  you  received  him?" 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  317 

"Yes." 

"How  long  did  he  stay?" 

"Until  ten  o'clock." 

"And  you  entertained  him  during  all  that  time?" 

"Yes." 

"And  yet — 'No  wrong  has  been  done,  no  wrong  in- 
tended?' "  he  exclaimed,  in  bitter  sarcasm. 

"Xo,  no  wrong  whatever,"  said  Lilith. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  fierce  exclamation. 

"I  tell  you,  wretched  girl,  that  men  have  slain 
women  for  such  wrongs  as  these!" 

Lilith  was  shocked,  but  quickly  controlled  herself, 
though  she  cowered  in  the  chair  and  shuddered  with 
horror. 

He  was  pacing  excitedly  up  and  down  the  floor. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  beside  her. 

She  looked  up  with  a  wild,  startled,  appealing  ex- 
pression in  her  dark  eyes. 

"Be  still!"  he  said.  "You  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
me!  I  regard  the  laws  of  God.  I  would  not  kill  you, 
although  you  have  dishonored  me!  I  will  not  even 
bring  you  into  court  to  expose  your  wickedness  and  my 
humiliation  to  the  world — although  these  letters  in 
my  possession  are  sufficient  to  convict  you  and  free 
me  in  any  divorce  court  in  Christendom !  But — I  shall 
not  the  less  surely  repudiate  you,  and  forbid  you  to 
bear  my  name,  or  to  speak  of  me  as  in  any  manner 
related  to  yourself,  or  to  speak  of  my  honored  father. 
I  shall  forbid  you  to  do  this,  under  pain  of  the  legal 
penalties  I  am  able  to  inflict  upon  you." 

Lilith  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  was  looking  at  her 
husband,  a  strange  change  coming  over  the  childlike 
face  and  form ;  as  if  by  some  magic  transformation  she 
was  turning  into  a  mature  woman. 

For  a  moment  she  rested  one  arm  on  the  back  of  her 
chair,  as  if  for  support,  while  she  looked  up  to  his 
face  and  inquired,  in  a  low,  slow,  distinct  tone: 


318  THE   UNLOVED   WIFE 

"Mr.  Hereward,  do  you  mean  what  you  say?" 
"Do  I  mean  it?  I  mean  every  word  that  I  have  said, 
and  much  more  than  I  care  to  say!  How  dare  you 
stand  there,  looking  at  me  in  that  insolent  way?  Do 
you  wish  to  madden  me?  Go!  Leave  my  sight!  Leave 
the  room  while  I  have  some  remnant  of  self-command 
left.  And  do  not  venture  into  my  view  again.  In  a 
few  hours  I  shall  have  left  my  father's  house  behind 
me,  never  to  return  while  you  desecrate  it  with  your 
presence!" 

What  a  transformation  had  come  over  the  timid 
young  face  and  form!  Was  this  Lilith,  the  shrinking 
child-wife,  who  but  a  little  while  ago  cowered,  tremb- 
ling like  a  most  guilty  culprit  under  the  cruel  charges 
and  fierce  wrath  of  her  husband?  Was  this  the  same 
Lilith  who  now  came  and  stood  before  him,  pale,  but 
firm  and  self-possessed,  as  she  spoke  in  a  clear,  calm 
yoice: 

"No,  Mr.  Hereward,  I  cannot  turn  you  out  of  your 
father's  house.  It  is  I  who  must  leave  it." 

"Do  not  stand  there  and  look  at  me.  Do  not  speak 
to  me.  Do  not  tempt  me.  Go!  go!"  he  exclaimed, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  said. 

"Farewell!"  she  said,  and  turning,  left  the  room. 
Hours  passed. 

The  negroes  in  the  kitchen,  who  had  seen  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Hereward,  and  were  expecting  a  -summons  to 
the  parlor  to  receive  orders  from  their  Distress, 
waited  long  in  vain.  Twice  Steve  had  gone  to  the 
parlor  door,  twice  he  found  it  locked,  and  had  retired 
discreetly,  without  rapping. 

Twice  Nancy  had  been  startled  by  a  shriek  from  her 
mistress.  The  first  time  she  had  understood  it  as  a 
cry  of  surprise  at  the  sudden  appearance  of  Mr.  Here- 
ward, who  had  surprised  them  all,  in  point  of  fact. 
The  second  time  she  had  hurried  to  the  parlor,  but 


THE   UNLOVED   WIFE  319 

still  finding  it  locked,  and  hearing  her  master's  voice 
in  stern  tones,  she  had  withdrawn,  saying  to  herself: 

"He's  telling  ob  her  some  drefful  fing  as  has  happen' 
— maybe  dat  railway  acciden',  as  mought  'a'  been 
more  sarous  dan  was  'ported  by  Steve." 

The  dinner  hour  came  on,  and  the  table  was  set  in 
the  dining-room  for  two,  and  still  there  came  no  sign 
of  a  summons  from  the  parlor. 

Dinner  was  placed  on  the  table  and  the  bell  rung, 
but  without  effect. 

Then  Steve  was  told  to  go  to  the  parlor  door,  and 
tell  the  master  and  mistress  that  dinner  was  on  the 
table. 

Steve  went  and  rapped. 

"Well?"  said  the  master  from  within. 

"Dinner,  is  waitin',  sah." 

"I  do  not  want  any.    Don't  interrupt  me  again." 

Steve  went  and  reported  to  Nancy. 

"De  young  marster  and  mist'ess  is  been  habbin'  ob  a 
breeze,  sure's  yer  born.  Somefin  wrong  twix'  dem  two. 
Wot  did  de  young  mist'ess  say?  Didn'  she  want  no 
dinner  neider?" 

"I  reckon  not,  A'n'  Nancy,  'caze  she  nebber  said 
nuffin." 

"Well,  bes'  way  is  to  let  'em  alone  till  deir  appetite 
comes  to  'em.  It  will  be  sure  to  come  'fo'  long,"  said 
the  woman. 

Dinner  grew  cold  on  the  table,  and  still  there  was  no 
movement  from  the  parlor. 

Night  fell.  Supper  was  served.  The  bell  was  rung. 
But  no  one  came  out  from  the  parlor. 

"I'll  go  see  wot's  de  matter  now,"  said  Nancy. 

And,  with  the  freedom  of  the  oldest  and  most 
favored  servant  in  the  house,  she  went  to  the  parlor 
door,  opened  it,  and  entered  the  room. 

The  place  was  cold  and  dark.  The  fire  had  gone  out, 
and  no  lamp  had  been  lighted.  She  could  not  see  if 


320  THE    UNLOVED   WIFE 

there  was  any  one  there.  Something  about  the  place 
seemed  to  strike  a  chill  to  her  spirit  as  well  as  to  her 
flesh.  She  called  out: 

"Miss  Lilif !— Marse  Tudor." 

There  was  no  response. 

She  shivered. 

"  'Deed,  de  place  is  like  de  desolation  ob  'bomina- 
tion,  as  de  Second  Adwenturers  say.  Here,  Steve, 
fetch  a  light!"  she  called  down  the  dark  passage. 

The  man  speedily  appeared  with  a  tallow  candle  in 
his  hand. 

They  entered  the  parlor  together,  but  found  no  one 
there. 

"Dey  ain't  in  de  long  drawin'-room,  'caze  dere  ain't 
been  no  fire  in  dere  for  weeks  an'  weeks.  Maybe  dey 
is  up  in  Miss  Lilif's  room.  I'll  go  up  dere  an'  see." 

And  up  Nancy  went,  followed  by  Steve  with  the 
candle. 

The  fire  was  low  in  Lilith's  chamber,  but  no  sign  of 
master  or  mistress  was  there. 

They  went  through  all  the  upper  rooms  without  find- 
ing the  young  pair. 

"Sich  goin's  on!  I  calls  it  flyin',  I  do,  indeed — 
flyin'!"  grumbled  Nancy,  coming  downstairs  from  her 
fruitless  errand. 

"It's  jes'  like  'playin'  hide-an'-whoop,'  ain't  it,  A'n' 
Nancy?"-  said  Steve. 

"Whey  in  dis  worl'  can  dey  be?  Sure  dey  ain't  gone 
out  to  take  a  walk  on  sich  a  bitter,  bitter  cole  night  as. 
dis?  An'  dey  ain't  in  de  house,  certain,"  said  Nancy, 
after  she  had  gone  through  the  whole  building  in  her 
vain  search. 

"It  is  'sterious,  ain't  it,  Nancy?"  said  Steve. 

"  'Sterious?'  'Sterious  doan  begin  to  'scribe  it.  I 
feels  like  I  was  in  a  bad  dream,  a  awful  bad  dream. 
Come  now,  Steve,  shet  de  dinin'-room  shetters;  it's 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  321 

gettin'  cole  as  Canady,"  said  the  woman,  as  the  two 
paused  near  the  door. 

The  dining-room,  as  we  have  said  before,  was  in  the 
rear  of  Lilith's  little  parlor.  Its  windows  looked  out 
upon  the  grounds  behind  the  house. 

Steve  went  to  close  the  shutters,  but  started  back 
with  a  cry. 

"Wot's  de  matter  wid  de  fool  now?"  demanded 
Nancy.  " Has  yer  seen  a  ghost?" 

"  'Deed,  Lor'  knows,  A'n'  Nancy!  I  fought  fus'  it 
was  a  ghost.  But  it  on'y  Marse  Tudor  comin'  up  f'om 
de  crik  an'  lookin'  as  w'ite  as  a  sheet,"  replied  the  boy, 
recovering  himself. 

"Marse  Tudor?" 

"Yes,  A'n'  Nancy." 

"Comin'  up  f'om  de  crik?" 

"Yes,  A'n'  Nancy." 

"Marse  Tudor  comin'  up  f'om  de  ciik  dis  time  o' 
night?" 

"Yes,  I  tell  yer,  A'n'  Nancy.  Ef  yer  doan  believe  me 
come  an'  see  for  yerse'f,"  said  Steve,  making  way  for 
the  woman  to  look  out  from  the  window. 

Yes,  there  he  was.  Nancy  could  not  deny  it.  Tudor 
Hereward,  advancing  from  the  direction  of  the  creek, 
with  his  face  looking  ghastly  pale  in  the  full  moon- 
light. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  entered  the  house. 

"Has  yer  seen  anyfing  ob  Miss  Lilif,  sah?"  inquired 
Nancy,  going  to  meet  him. 

"No!  Is  she  not  in  her  room?"  demanded  the  mas- 
ter, in  ill-concealed  agitation. 

"She  i.i  not  in  de  house,  sah,  dat  is  certain,"  said 
Nancy,  becoming  vaguely  alarmed. 

"Have  you  looked  for  her?" 

"Ebbery  hole  an'  corner,  young  marse.  An*  w'ich 
dere  ain't  no  oak-chists,  nor  mistletoe  boughs,  nor 
baron's  halls  for  her  to  get  trapped  into  neider,"  re- 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

plied  Nancy,  with  a  shudder  at  the  recollections  of  the 
ghastly  song. 

Tudor  Hereward  changed  color. 

"Give  me  that  candle,  Stephen,"  he  said,  "and  go 
back  to  the  kitchen,  both  of  you.  I  will  ring  if  I  need 
you." 

And  he  took  the  light  from  Stephen's  hand  to  search 
the  house  himself. 

He  went  upstairs  to  begin  the  search  in  Lilith's  own 
room. 

And  there  he  found  that  he  need  search  no  further. 
His  eyes  fell  upon  something  that  had  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  two  negro  servants. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

GONE 

IT  was  a  letter,  pinned  to  the  pin-cushion  on  the 
dressing  bureau. 

He  snatched  it  up,  went  and  locked  the  door  to  se- 
cure himself  from  intrusion,  and  then  returned  and 
stood  by  the  chimney  corner  to  read  the  letter  by  the 
light  of  the  lamp  on  the  mantel-piece. 

On  the  inside  it  was  without  date  or  address,  and 
read  as  if  it  had  been  poured  out  from  the  writer's 
heart  and  brain  at  a  white  heat.  It  began  somewhat 
abruptly,  as  follows: 

"You  have  sent  me  away  from  you.  You  have  told 
me  that  in  a  few  hours  you  will  leave  this,  your  patri- 
monial home,  never  to  return  to  it  while  I  'desecrate  it' 
with  my  presence.  But  you  need  not  abandon  your 
father's  house  on  my  account,  Tudor.  You  have  told 
me  to  leave  you.  And  I  obey  you,  as  I  have  always 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  323 

obeyed  you.    While  you  are  reading  this  letter  I  shall 
be  speeding  away. 

"You  have  said  that  you  never  loved  me — that  you 
only  married  me  to  please  your  dying  father. 

"Oh,  Tudor,  from  my  childhood  up,  I  had  been 
taught  to  love  and  honor  you,  and  this  love  and  honor 
grew  and  strengthened  into  an  adoration  and  worship 
second  only  to  that  I  owe  and  give  to  the  Heavenly 
Father.  I  never  thought  myself  worthy  to  be  your 
wife.  When  you  asked  me  to  become  your  wife,  I  con- 
sented in  obedience  to  your  father's  wishes  and  to 
what  I  supposed  to  be  your  own — I  consented  gladly 
— wondering  at  the  honor  and  happiness  offered  me. 

"I  never  questioned  that  you  loved  me,  I  never 
even  thought  to  question  it.  I  loved  and  trusted  you, 
and  you  had  asked  me  for  myself.  That  was  enough 
for  me. 

"But,  oh,  Tudor!  If  I  had  not  loved  and  honored  you 
next  to  our  Heavenly  Lord,  and  had  not  taken  it  on 
trust  that  you  loved  me,  I  never  would  have  con- 
sented to  be  your  wife;  I  never  would  have  been  a 
party  to  that  sacrilege  committed  beside  the  death-bed 
of  your  father — no,  not  even  to  have  pleased  that  be- 
loved and  dying  father.  But  it  was  done — done  in  the 
innocence  of  ignorance  by  me. 

"Since  our  marriage  I  have  tried  to  serve  you  and 
please  you.  Only  the  Lord  knows  with  what  zeal  and 
delight  I  tried  to  make  myself  agreeable  and  accept- 
able to  you.  But  it  was  all  wasted  worship,  because 
you  did  not  love  me. 

"And,  Mr.  Here  ward,  I  am  at  this  moment  suffering 
some  self-scorn  for  such  man-worship. 

"Now,  as  to  this  last  unspeakable  charge  that  you 
have  made  against  me.  If  it  were  possible  that  it 
should  be  true,  it  should  separate  us  forever  and  ever. 
And  as  it  is  not  true,  it  must  separate  us  until  you 
yourself  shall  discover  its  falsity,  realize  the  depth  of 


324  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

the  wrong  you  have  done  me,  and  come  to  me — not 
with  an  apology — that  I  do  not  want — but  with  a  full 
and  complete  retraction. 

"Oh,  Tudor!  After  all  your  father's  life-long  knowl- 
edge and  love  of  his  adopted  child;  after  all  our  old 
neighbors'  esteem  and  affection  for  me,  from  my  child- 
hood up;  after  all  that  you  have  seen  and  known  of 
me;  after  all  our  close  communion  of  heart  and  mind, 
how  could  you  think  such  deadly  evil  even  possible  for 
me?  Surely  if  it  had  been,  some  sign  of  it  would  have 
shown  even  in  my  childhood,  for  even  children  show 
some  indications  of  character.  And  when  did  you  ever 
hear  of  me,  from  your  father's  friends  or  neighbors 
who  have  known  me  intimately  from  infancy,  any  sign 
of  falsehood,  treachery,  insincerity,  or  any  other  form 
of  immorality? 

"And  yet  in  the  face  of  my  well-known  spotless  and 
blameless  record,  you  charge  me  with  unutterable  evil 
upon  the  mere  accidents  of  circumstantial  evidence 
and  outward  appearances! 

"Oh,  Tudor!  My  faith  in  you  was  stronger  than 
that!  If  over  your  head  had  lowered  a  cloud  of  cir- 
cumstantial evidence,  heavy  and  dark  enough  to 
blacken  your  reputation  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world, 
yet  would  not  I  have  believed  any  evil  of  you!  One 
word  of  yours  would  have  been  stronger  than  all  that 
evidence.  And  yet  I  would  not  have  wronged  you  by 
requiring  even  that  one  word  to  be  spoken!  I  could 
not  have  thought  any  evil  of  you!  No,  nor  do  I  even 
now,  when  you  have  wronged  and  banished  me! — al- 
though I  cannot  now  worship  you  as  I  have  done; 
cannot  even  think  of  you  as  I  once  did;  cannot  ascribe 
to  you  the  wisdom  and  goodness  I  once  believed  you 
to  possess.  For,  Tudor,  if  you  had  been  as  wise  and 
good  as  I  once  supposed  you  to  be,  you  could  never 
have  married  me  without  love;  never  have  misunder- 


325 

stood  my  nature ;  never  have  condemned  me  upon  cir- 
cumstantial evidence. 

"You  would  have  seen  me  and  known  truth  through 
all  the  cloud  of  mystery  that  enveloped  me. 

"I  am  your  true  wife,  holding  your  authority  over 
me  second  only  to  the  Lord's.  But,  Tudor,  I  am  no 
'Griselda'  to  lay  myself  beneath  your  feet  and  suffer 
you,  in  trampling  upon  me,  to  tread  justice  and 
humanity  into  the  dust. 

"Although  you  say  you  never  loved  me,  yet  you 
made  me  your  own;  and  because  you  made  me  your 
own — your  own  most  intimate  own — your  second  self 
— I  must  speak  to  you  as  yourself  to  yourself. 

"I  go  now  because  you  have  sent  me  away;  I  shall 
never  throw  myself  in  your  way,  neither  shall  I  try  to 
conceal  myself  from  you.  But  I  go,  never  to  return 
until  you  yourself  discover  your  wrong,  retract  your 
charge,  and  with  perfect  love  and  trust  seek  me  out 
and  ask  me  to  come  to  you.  Then  I  will  return  to  be 
all  that  I  have  been  to  you  up  to  this  day  when  your 
insane  act  drives  me  away.  LILITH." 

Tudor  Hereward  read  this  letter  with  such  a  conflict 
of  feeling  that  on  finishing  he  tore  it  to  shreds  and 
threw  it  into  the  fire,  where  it  was  burned  to  ashes. 

The  next  instant  he  regretted  his  hasty  act.  And 
the  time  was  destined  to  come  when  he  would  bitterly 
lament  the  destruction  of  that  letter;  when  he  would 
have  given  his  whole  fortune  for  its  recovery,  had 
that  been  possible. 

He  threw  himself  into  the  arm-chair  before  the  fire, 
where  he  sat  in  deeply  troubled  thought. 

It  was  a  bitterly  cold  night,  as  the  weather-wise 
negroes  had  predicted  that  it  would  be.  The  wind  was 
blowing  a  gale  from  the  northwest.  Every  sheet  and 
stream  of  water  would  be  hard  frozen  before  the  morn- 
ing. Where  was  Lilith  to-night?  he  asked  himself, 


326  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

conscience-stricken,  although  he  still  believed  her  to 
be  false,  or  rather  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  he 
had  full  cause  to  do  so. 

"I  did  not  drive  the  child  from  the  house!  I  should 
not  have  dreamed  of  doing  such  a  thing  on  such  a 
night  as  this!  I  only  ordered  her  from  my  presence! 
Now  where  has  she  gone  on  this  freezing  night?  To 
the  railway  station,  no  doubt,  first  of  all,  to  take  the 
train  east.  And  to  do  this  she  must  have  ordered  a 
carriage.  She  tried  to  catch  the  eight  o'clock  train, 
perhaps.  If  she  succeeded  she  is  off.  If  she  missed 
it  she  is  still  at  the  station  waiting  for  the  next  train 
— the  midnight  train — and  I  may  yet  overtake  her  and 
stop  her." 

With  this  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind,  Tudor 
Hereward  went  downstairs  to  the  cold  and  comfort- 
less parlor,  and  rang  the  bell. 

Nancy  and  Stephen  both  answered  it,  anxiety  de- 
picted on  every  feature  of  their  faces. 

"I  have  a  note  from  your  mistress.  She  has  gone  to 
make  a  visit.  Stephen,  go  down  to  the  stable  and  ask 
Peter,  or  any  of  the  grooms  you  may  find  there,  what 
carriage  and  horses  she  ordered.  I  hope  a  closed  car- 
riage and  safe  horses,  on  such  a  night  as  this/'  said 
Mr.  Hereward. 

Stephen,  much  wondering  at  the  aspect  of  affairs, 
went  on  his  errand. 

Nancy,  after  standing  in  silence  for  a  few  moments, 
broke  out  with: 

"Now,  wot  in  de  name  o'  sense  made  Miss  Lilif  start 
out  dis  cole  night  to  make  a  wisit?" 

As  Mr.  Hereward  made  no  reply,  Nancy  started  off 
on  another  tack: 

"Marse  Tudor,  yer  nebber  eat  no  dinner,  an'  now  de 
supper's  gettin'  spoil'.  Won't  yer  come  in  an'  eat 
supper?" 

"Presently,"  curtly  responded  the  master. 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  327 

Stephen  returned. 

"Well?"  anxiously  demanded  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Well,  sah,  de  young  mist'ess  hasn't  ordered  no  car- 
riage, nor  likewise  bosses,  f'om  de  stables.  De  young 
mist'ess  hasn't  sent  no  orders  to  de  stables  wotsom'- 
debber,"  said  the  man. 

"Is  that  true?"  demanded  Mr.  Hereward,  in  surprise 
and  disturbance. 

"True  as  Gospel,  young  marster,  as  yer  mought 
prove  by  'quirin'  fo'  yerse'f,"  said  Stephen. 

Mr.  Hereward,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  his 
servants,  chose  to  inquire  for  himself. 

Hastily  drawing  on  his  ulster,  and  slipping  the  hood 
over  his  head,  he  went  out  and  bent  his  steps  to  the 
stables,  facing  the  fierce  northwest  wind  as  he  went. 

At  the  stables  he  found  Peter  and  Len,  two  of  the 
grooms  who  lived  in  the  loft. 

They  corroborated  the  report  of  Stephen,  and  as  a 
final  proof,  showed  the  three  carriages  and  six  horses 
that  formed  the  establishment. 

Lilith  had  not  gone  to  the  railway  station,  therefore 
she  must  be  near  at  hand;  he  would  wait  for  the  de- 
velopments of  the  morning,  he  concluded. 

He  went  into  the  dining-room  and  ate  a  little  supper. 
Then  he  ordered  Stephen  to  shut  up  the  house,  and  he 
went  upstairs  and  went  to  bed,  well  worn  out  in  body 
and  mind;  yet  he  could  not  sleep. 

He  passed  the  night  sleeplessly  and  restlessly,  and 
arose  early  from  his  wearisome  bed.  He  dressed  him- 
self in  anxious  haste,  and  went  down  to  the  parlor 
where  a  good  fire  was  burning. 

He  rang  the  bell. 

Stephen  answered  it. 

"Tell  your  mistress  that  I  would  like  to  see  her,"  he 
said,  speaking  on  speculation. 

"Yes,  sah." 


328  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

The  man  left  the  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Nancy 
entered. 

"I  s'pose  yer  knows,  young  marster,  as  we  ain't  seen 
nuffin  ob  de  young  mist'ess  since  yes'day?"  said  the 
woman  anxiously. 

"Yes;  and  now,  Nancy,  tell  me  where  do  you  sup 
pose  she  could  have  gone?"  inquired  the  young  man, 
confidently,  for  Nancy  had  been  his  nurse,  and  he 
knew  that  he  could  trust  in  her  discretion. 

"It  has  jes'  come  in  my  head  whey  she's  gone, 
maybe." 

"Where,  then?"  anxiously  demanded  Mr.  Hereward. 

"Well,  young  marse,  yer  know  dat  ole  auntie  wot 
libs  by  herse'f  just  'cross  de  crik  back  ob  de  house  ?" 

"Yes,  yes.    What  has  she  to  do  with  the  matter?" 

"Heap  mo'n  yer  fink,  marse,  maybe.  Dat  ole  'ornan 
been  laid  up  long  ob  de  rheumatiz;  so  yes'day  mornia' 
'fo'  yer  come  home,  she  sent  a  young  w'ite  gal  here 
beggin',  an'  de  young  mist'ess  gib  her  a  bundle  of  ole 
close  an'  a  basket  ob  'visions,  an'  sent  me  long  home  to 
help  carry  de  fings." 

"Well,  but  what  has  this  to  do  with  yojur  mistress' 
disappearance?" 

"I  gwine  tell  yer,  marster.  De  young  mist'ess,  she 
seemed  mighty  consarned  about  dat  young  gal,  an' 
couldn'  get  her  off  en  her  mine  like;  so  I  jes'  finks  as  de 
young  mist'ess  mought  'a'  put  on  her  cloak  an'  gone  to 
see  dat  young  gal  an'  sick  ole  'oman." 

"I  will  go  over  there  at  once,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Here- 
ward,  rising.  "But  why  has  she  not  returned  if  she 
went  there?" 

"Oh,  marse,  she  might  hab  foun'  dat  anshun  ole 
'oman  mighty  bad,  an'  yer  know  how  ten'er-hearted 
Miss  Lilif  is.  Ah,  dere  ain't  many  like  her  is.  An' 
so  she  mought  'a'  stayed  long  ob  her." 

"And  not  sent  word  where  she  was,  to  prevent 
anxiety  here?  Nonsense,  Nancy." 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  329 

'•She  mought  liab  sent  word,  an'  de  messenger  neb- 
ber  come.  Yer  know  how  chillun  is." 

Here  ward  had  by  this  time  belted  on  his  ulster,  and 
now  he  took  his  cap  and  left  the  room,  to  go  on  his 
errand.  He  did  not  believe  that  Lilith  was  at  the 
creek  hat,  yet  he  went  thither,  hoping  against  despair. 

He  crossed  the  rustic  bridge,  which  was  nothing  bet- 
ter than  a  broad,  heavy  plank,  without  defence  on 
either  side.  Very  slippery  and  unsafe  was  that  plank 
now,  covered  as  it  was  with  frozen  snow  as  smooth  as 
glass,  and  sloping  down  to  each  edge,  from  which  hung 
a  fringe  of  icicles. 

But  Hereward  was  so  sure-footed  that  he  passed 
•ver  safely,  and  followed  the  narrow  path  that  led 
deep  into  the  tangled  thicket  where  the  little  log  hut 
stood. 

Hereward  knocked  at  the  door. 

A  weak  and  querulous  voice  bade  the  visitor — 

"Come  in." 

He  entered  the  hut,  which  consisted  of  but  one 
medium-sized  room,  lighted  by  one  small  window. 

On  the  left-hand  side  stood  a  miserable  bed,  cov- 
ered with  heaps  of  old  clothes — old  gowns,  coats, 
skirts,  and  so  forth — all  past  wear.  Huddled  under 
these  lay  the  rheumatic  old  negro  woman. 

Hereward's  heart,  notwithstanding  his  anxiety,  was 
struck  with  pity. 

"Why,  auntie,"  he  said,  standing  by  the  squalid  bed, 
"I  am  really  sorry  to  see  you  in  this  condition." 

"Ah,  Marse  Tudor,  how  good  it  was  in  yer  to  come, 
young  marse!  An'  de  fire  gone  out,  an'  I  hab  not  had 
nuffin  to  eat  since  las'  night,"  continued  the  old 
woman. 

"Has  not  Mrs.  Hereward  been  here  to  look  after 
you?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"W'ich?  De  young  mist'ess?  Lor'  now,  marse, 
who'd  speck  that  deliky  young  lady  to  come  to  sich  a 


330  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

po'  place  as  dis,  in  sich  wedder,  too?  No,  she  ain't 
been  yere,  young  marse;  but  she  sent  me  wittals  an' 
close,  plenty  ob  'em;  but  little  good  dey  do  to  me  now 
w'en  I  can't  turn  in  bed,  an'  got  nobody  to  han'  me 
nuffin." 

"Where  is  the  girl  who  was  staying  with  you?" 
inquired  Mr.  Hereward,  who  while  they  had  been  talk- 
ing had  not  been  idle,  but  had  been  gathering  together 
scattered  straw,  sticks,  pine  cones,  and  other  rustic- 
kindlings  which  littered  the  hut,  and  had  piled  them 
into  the  cold  fireplace,  up  which,  at  a  stroke  from  the 
match  he  drew  from  his  pocket-case,  they  blazed 
brightly. 

"Oh,  marse,  dat  do  look  so  good  an'  feel  so  com- 
fo'ble,"  said  the  old  woman,  rubbing  her  hands.  "An' 
dat  young  gal  wot  yer  ax  me  'bout,  she's  gone." 

"Gone?" 

"Yes,  marse,  gone  an'  lef  me  'lone  arter  I  had 
shelter'  her  so  many  weeks!" 

"How  came  she  to  leave  you  in  this  condition?" 

"Her  husban'  come  arter  her  an'  took  her  'way! 
Yes,  marse,  he  wot  had  'glected  her  all  de  time  w'en 
we  was  so  po',  come  an'  pounce  down  on  top  ob  us, 
'jes  w'en  we  had  a  plenty  to  eat  an'  drink,  an'  was 
a-j'yin'  oursefs  wid  all  de  good  tea  an'  bread  an'  meat 
as  de  young  mist'ess  had  sent,  he  come  in,  so  he  did, 
an'  eat  up  all  our  f'ied  ham  an'  eggs  an'  w'ite  rolls  an' 
cold  chicken,  an'  drank  up  ebery  drop  ob  wine  in  de 
bottle,  an'  put  de  flask  ob  b'andy  in  his  pocket.  An' 
den  he  ax  de  young  gal  wot  else  de  young  mist'ess 
had  gib  her,  an'  she  told  him  'bout  de  money  an'  fings. 
An'  den  he  said  he  was  goin'  way  dat  same  night  an' 
she  mus'  get  ready  to  go  'long  ob  him.  An'  so  dey 
pack  up  an'  went  an'  tuk  ebery  bressed  fing  along  wid 
'em!  Ebery  bressed  fing  as  de  young  mist'ess  had 
sent  for  bofe  of  us,  dey  took  'way  an'  lef  me  yere  'lone 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  33t 

by  myse'f.  But  I  doan  blame  her,  po'  dear  gal!  She 
had  to  do  wot  he  said." 

"Who  was  the  fellow?    Do  you  know  his  name?" 

"Yer  mean  dat  young  'oman's  husban'?" 

"Yes,  I  mean  him.  What  was  the  ruffian's  name?  I 
will  have  him  arrested  for  robbery." 

"Now  wot  was  his  name,  ag'in?  I  have  heerd  it 
often  enuff,  an'  it  was  a  funny  name  too.  Lemmy 
see — Answer — somefin  or  oder!  Answer — Answer- 
much — Answer-loud — Answer-long!  Dat  was  it,  mars- 
ter!  Answerlong!" 

"ANCILLON!"  exclaimed  Hereward,  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  marster,  dat  was  it!  A  Mister — Alfud — 
Answer-long — an  awful  big  rogue  too." 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it!  Well,  my  poor  woman,  I 
will  hurry  home  and  send  Nancy  and  Stephen  here 
with  all  that  you  require  to  make  you  comfortable; 
and  one  of  the  younger  girls  shall  come  and  stay  with 
you  until  you  get  better,"  said  Hereward,  as  he  arose 
to  go. 

"Young  marse,  I's  'shame'  to  ax  yer,  but  would  yer 
min'  lookin'  in  de  cupboard  dere  to  see  if  yer  kin  fine 
any  little  crumb  or  crust  ob  bread  fo'  me  to  nibble  on 
w'ile  I'm  waitin'  fo'  de  fings  yer's  gwine  to  sen'  me  by 
Nancy?  'Deed  I's  'shame'  to  bodder  yer  'bout  it,  young 
marse;  but  I  feels  awful  bad  t'rough  not  eatin'  nuffin." 

Before  she  had  got  half  through  her  speech,  Here- 
ward had  gone  to  the  corner  cupboard  and  fished  out 
from  its  litter  not  only  a  part  of  a  cold  roll,  but  a 
shred  of  cold  ham,  which  he  brought  to  the  woman, 
together  with  a  tin  can  of  water,  to  procure  which 
he  had  to  break  through  a  thick  crust  of  ice  that  had 
frozen  over  it  in  the  pail. 

All  his  thoughts  were  thrown  into  confusion  by 
what  he  had  just  heard  of  Ancillon.  He  was  clear  on 
but  one  point — be  should  get  out  a  warrant  for  the 
arrest  of  the  man  on  the  charge  of  having  robbed  the 


332  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

old  sick  woman  of  the  money  and  goods  that  had  been 
sent  for  her  relief. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home,  Nancy  came  with  an 
anxious  face  to  meet  him  at  the  back  door,  by  which 
he  entered  the  house. 

Anticipating  her  questions,  he  said: 

"Your  mistress  has  not  been  at  the  creek  hut." 

"Now  w'ere  de  name  ob  de  Lor'  can  dat  young 
creetur  be?"  groaned  the  woman. 

"She  probably  walked  out  to  visit  some  neighbor, 
and  has  been  detained  by  the  very  cold  weather,"  re- 
plied Hereward,  trying  to  persuade  himself  to  believe 
in  his  own  improbable  theory. 

"You  must  take  Stephen — No,  by  the  way,  I  shall 
want  Stephen.  You  had  better  take  Peter  and  the 
handcart,  filled  with  everything  most  needful,  and  go 
to  the  hut.  Also,  take  with  you  one  of  the  younger 
girls  to  leave  with  the  sick  woman  until  she  gets 
better.  I  must  put  the  case  entirely  in  your  hands, 
Nancy,  as  I  shall  go  to  the  village  immediately.  As 
you  go  out  send  me  in  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  tell  Stephen 
to  put  the  gray  horse  to  the  buggy,  and  have  it  at  the 
door  as  soon  as  possible,"  said  Mr.  Hereward. 

Nancy  left  the  parlor,  full  of  wonder  and  distress 
on  account  of  the  disappearance  of  her  young  mis- 
tress, and  at  the  very  inadequate  anxiety  of  her 
master. 

"  'Pears  to  me  he  ought  to  be  alinos'  c'azy  'bout  de 
young  mist'ess,  but  he  ain't!  He's  on'y  a  little  sort 
ob  oneasy,  an'  dat  is  all.  Wen  a  body  would  fink 
as  he'd  be  ready  to  go  ravin'  mad!  An'  she  not  been 
seen  since  yes'day  arternoon!" 

Hereward  was  not  nearly  so  indifferent  as  Nancy 
had  supposed  him  to  be.  Since  Lilith's  disappearance 
he  had  made  a  discovery — that  he  loved  her  more 
than  he  had  known.  Since  reading  her  letter  he  had 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  63S 

made  another  discovery — that  he  doubted  her  less  and 
respected  her  more  than  he  had  known. 

And  now  he  was  deeply  troubled  on  more  than  one 
account.  He  was  most  anxious  for  the  safety  of 
Lilith — a  child  who  knew  nothing  of  the  world,  and 
yet  had  thrown  herself  unprotected  and  unadvised 
upon  the  world.  Then  he  was  most  anxious,  also,  for 
the  respect  of  his  neighbors.  He  could  not  bear  to 
think  that  one  iota  of  that  respect  should  be  forfeited 
through  any  means,  least  of  all  through  anything  con- 
nected with  his  domestic  life. 

But  now  her  own  act  had  upset  all  his  plans,  and  not 
only  his  plans,  but  his  opinions  also;  for  he  could  not 
divest  himself  of  the  conviction  that  she  had  behaved 
with  the  forbearance,  self-respect  and  dignity  that 
might  have  become  a  dethroned  queen.  He  could  not 
do  otherwise  than  recant  all  his  base,  injurious 
thoughts  of  her;  he  could  not  but  honor  her. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  where  was  she?  And 
how  could  he  ever  answer  the  questions  of  her  friends, 
his  own  old  neighbors,  when  they  should  inquire, 
"Where  is  she?"  How,  also,  would  this  rnysterioua 
disappearance  of  his  wife  affect  the  question  of  his 
re-election?  For  the  ambitious  young  statesman 
thought  even  of  that. 

Yet  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  question  of  Lilith'a 
safety  was  the  one  that  gave  him  the  most  anxiety. 

In  the  midst  of  his  disturbed  thoughts  one  of  the 
housemaids  brought  him  the  cup  of  coffee  he  had 
ordered,  and  also  the  announcement  that  the  buggy 
was  at  the  door. 

He  drank  the  coffee  hastily,  entered  the  buggy,  and 
drove  off  to  Frosthill. 

Then,  by  covert  questionings,  he  tiied  to  discover 
whether  any  one  had  seen  Mrs.  Hereward.  But  he 
gained  no  tidings  of  her. 

He  laid  a  complaint  against  one  Alfred  Ancillon 


834  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

before  the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  got  out  a  warrant 
for  his  arrest. 

Then  he  went  home. 

But  days  passed  without  news  of  Lilith,  or  of  the 
man  whom  the  constables  were  hunting. 

At  length,  at  the  end  of  a  week  of  fruitless  waiting, 
watching,  and  hunting,  Tudor  Hereward  returned  to 
(Washington  City. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  TERRIBLE  DISCOVERY 

TUDOR  HEREWARD  arrived  at  the  capital  in  a  very 
unenviable  state  of  mind.  He  felt  that  he  had  driven 
his  young  wife  from  her  home,  as  surely,  as  inevitably, 
as  if  he  had  taken  her  by  the  shoulders  and  thrust  her 
out  of  doors,  and  turned  the  key  against  her  on  that 
bitter  March  night  when  she  disappeared  from  the 
neighborhood. 

It  is  true  that  he  had  not  expected  her — timid  child 
that  he  thought  her — to  take  him  so  promptly  at  his 
word;  he  had  only  meant  to  reproach  her,  to  punish 
her,  and  humiliate  her  by  making  her  feel  what  he 
thought  of  the  baseness  of  her  conduct;  but  he  had 
meant  to  leave  her,  the  next  morning,  in  peaceable 
possession  of  the  Cliffs,  until  after  the  adjournment 
of  Congress,  when  he  would  have  leisure  to  attend  to 
her  case,  to  put  her  away  quietly  and  provide  for  her. 

The  letter  she  had  addressed  to  him  had  forestalled 
all  fear  that  she  had,  in  country  parlance,  "made  'way 
with  herself."  That  letter  had  also  shaken  down  to 
the  dust  all  his  doubts  of  Lilith's  integrity.  The  mys- 
tery of  her  acquaintance  with  Ancillon  still  remained, 
but  as  a  mystery  only,  not  as  an  evidence  of  evil. 
All  his  wrath  now  was  turned  upon  Ancillon,  who  he 


I 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  335 

believed  had  won  his  wife's  compassion  by  some  false 
story,  concerning  which  he  had  bound  her  to  secrecy. 
He  might  have  represented  himself  to  her  as  her 
uncle,  or  even  as  her  brother.  How  could  she  know 
any  better,  who  had  never  known  her  parents  except 
by  hear-say,  or  her  parents'  family  even  by  report? 
So  now  reasoned  Tudor  Hereward  on  the  theme  of 
Alfred  Ancillon. 

Other  memories  also,  which  should  have  been  pres- 
ent with  him  and  considered  in  the  hour  of  his  mad 
passion,  now  came  too  late  in  the  shape  of  sober 
second  thoughts.  They  had  been  suggested  not  only 
by  his  experience  of  her,  but  by  her  letter. 

When  had  he  ever  heard  a  single  word  in  his  own 
family,  or  out  of  it,  against  her  conduct? 

His  late  father,  too,  who  had  brought  Lilith  up  from 
babyhood,  and  who  so  loved  and  esteemed  her  that  he 
wished  her,  above  all  other  women,  to  become  the  wife 
of  his  beloved  and  only  son — was  no  such  fool  as  to  be 
deceived  in  her  character  and  disposition. 

His  old  neighbors,  too,  who  had  known  Lilith  inti- 
mately from  her  childhood,  and  who,  because  she  was 
humbly  born — an  interloper  in  their  old  county  circles 
— would  have  been  sure  to  detect  flaws  in  her  nature, 
had  there  been  flaws  to  detect,  could  find  no  fault 
in  her  at  all. 

And  yet  he,  her  husband,  who  should  have  known 
her  better  than  all  others,  could,  in  his  jealous  pas- 
sion, forget  all  her  blameless  life,  all  her  love  and  de- 
votion to  his  late  father,  all  her  adoration  of  himself, 
all  the  consecration  of  her  young  heart  and  brain  and 
hands  to  his  constant,  untiring  service;  and  he  could, 
upon  merely  circumstantial  evidence,  suspect,  insult 
and  discard  her!  And  now  she  had  taken  him  at  his 
word  and  she  had  gone!  The  only  right,  proper  and 
dignified  course  she  could  have  taken.  He  admitted 
this. 


336  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

But,  poor,  desolate  child  that  she  was,  where  could 
she  have  gone? 

He  could  not  even  conjecture.  Nor  could  he  seek 
her  or  make  inquiries  about  her,  as  people  do  for  other 
missing  ones;  because  to  have  done  so  would  have 
made  a  neighborhood  sensation  that  might  have  de- 
veloped into  a  social  scandal.  And  this  he  shrank 
from  with  all  his  soul.  He  had,  therefore,  conducted 
his  search  for  Lilith  upon  the  most  secret  and  cautious 
principles. 

With  the  same  caution,  and  without  ever  mention- 
ing his  wife's  departure,  he  investigated  everywhere 
in  the  village  and  at  the  railway  station;  but  without 
any  success. 

Finally,  when  he  felt  convinced  that  she  was  no- 
where in  the  neighborhood,  and  suspected  that  she 
had  contrived  to  reach  the  railway  station  and  get 
on  the  cars  without  being  recognized,  he  had  given 
up  the  search  in  that  neighborhood  and  determined 
to  return  to  Washington  and  pursue  his  search  there. 

He  had  cautioned  his  servants,  upon  the  pain  of  his 
severest  anger,  not  to  talk  of  their  mistress  in  any 
manner,  adding  that  he  hoped  to  find  her  in  Washing- 
ton. And  he  had  left  them  full  of  sorrow  and  dismay. 

On  his  arrival  in  the  city  his  first  care  was  to  engage 
the  exclusive  service  of  a  private  detective. 

Having  thus  put  the  case  in  the  best  and  most  dis- 
creet hands,  he  applied  himself  to  his  official  work 
with  what  heart  he  could. 

To  all  inquiries  after  his  wife  he  would  answer  that 
her  health  had  not  improved,  but  that  he  hoped  it 
would  do  so.  And  thus  he  tried  to  ward  off  suspicion 
that  anything  else  but  health  was  out  of  order. 

He  hoped  and  prayed  to  get  some  trace  of  her  and 
bring  her  back  before  the  fact  of  her  departure  from 
him  should  become  the  property  of  gossips  and  the 
scandal-mongers,  political  as  well  as  social,  as  it  cer- 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  337 

tainly  would  do  in  Lilith's  prolonged  absence,  and  as 
certainly  be  made  a  terrible  weapon  for  his  downfall 
and  humiliation  in  the  next  election. 

But  days  followed  days  and  no  news  of  Lilith  came 
to  comfort  him.  All  the  efforts  of  the  skilled  detective 
failed  to  find  a  single  trace  of  her. 

He  also  hit  upon  another  plan.  He  put  in  the  per- 
sonal advertising  column  of  all  the  leading  papers  a 
cautiously  worded  advertisement  inviting  the  exile  to 
return. 

But  week  followed  week,  and  no  response  came. 

At  last  he  began  to  fear  that  some  fatal  evil  had 
befallen  Lilith;  not  that  she  herself  had  been  driven 
to  any  desperate  deed — he  had  too  much  faith  in  her 
religion  to  believe  her  capable  of  such  a  sin — but  he 
feared  that  through  her  very  innocence  and  inex- 
perience she  might  have  "fallen  among  thieves,"  and 
might  have  been  brought  to  destruction. 

He  was  still  in  this  state  of  mind  when  about  the 
middle  of  April,  as  he  was  one  morning  leaving  his 
hotel  to  go  to  the  House,  a  telegram  was  put  in  his 
hands.  That  was  in  itself  nothing  very  unusual. 

So  he  opened  this  one  quite  coolly  as  he  stood  near 
the  office  counter. 

But  his  cheek  grew  ashen  and  his  lips  were  com- 
pressed as  he  read  the  following  dispatch  from  the 
rector  of  St.  Mark's : 

"FROSTHILL,  April  15th,  18—. 

"To  THE  HON.  TUDOR  HEREWARD,  WASHINGTON  CITY: 
Come  at  once  to  Cloud  Cliffs.  A  terrible  discovery 
has  been  made.  "CLEMENT  CAVE." 

For  one  instant  he  stood  panic-stricken;  then 
glanced  quickly  at  the  office  clock,  saw  that  he  had 
just  ten  minutes  to  secure  the  next  train,  started  at 


338  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

once  for  the  avenue,  signaled  a  hackman,  jumped  into 
the  hack,  and  said  : 

"Double  fare  if  you  catch  the  express!" 

The  man  started  his  horses  at  a  brisk  rate,  and 
reached  the  depot  as  soon  as  possible. 

Hereward  sprang  out  of  the  hack,  thrust  the 
promised  reward  into  the  driver's  hand,  rushed 
through  the  gate,  and  jumped  on  the  train  just  as  it 
was  leaving  the  depot. 

Not  until  he  was  in  his  seat  did  Hereward  recover 
his  breath  or  his  self-possession. 

Then  he  took  the  telegram  and  read  it  again: 

"Come  at  once  to  Cloud  Cliffs.  A  terrible  discovery 
has  been  made." 

What  had  happened?  Why  could  not  the  writer  of 
that  telegram  have  spoken  out  plainly? 

"A  terrible  discovery." 

It  concerned  his  missing  wife.  Of  that  alone  he  felt 
assured.  But  in  what  way  did  it  concern  her? 

Why  could  not  the  rector  have  told  him  exactly 
what  had  happened? 

Then,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  sword-thrust,  the 
truth  struck  Hereward  that  Mr.  Cave  had  written  thus 
vaguely  though  alarmingly  to  prepare  him  for  the 
shock  of  some  calamity  too  great  to  be  conveyed  by 
telegram — something  worse  than  death,  if  worse  could 
happen  to  him  or  to  his! 

Tortured  and  oppressed  by  these  poignant  and 
gloomy  thoughts,  Tudor  Hereward  spent  the  hours  on 
the  train  that  was  rushing  him  rapidly  towards  his 
home. 

It  was  just  five  o'clock  when  the  train  stopped  at 
Frosthill. 

Hereward  sprang  out  at  once  and  looked  anxiously 
around. 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  339 

There  was  but  one  carriage  on  the  stand,  and  that 
was  the  rockaway  from  the  Cliffs,  with  Stephen  on  the 
box.  It  drew  up  to  the  platform,  and  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Cave  alighted  from  it,  and  with  a  pale  and  distressed 
countenance  advanced  to  meet  Hereward,  who  breath- 
lessly demanded: 

"What  has  happened?  Speak  out,  in  Heaven's 
name!" 

"Hush!  Collect  yourself.  Be  firm.  I  will  tell  you 
when  we  get  away  from  here,"  said  the  rector,  as  he 
took  a  firm  hold  of  the  young  man's  arm  and  urged 
him  into  the  carriage. 

The  next  instant  they  were  seated  side  by  side  and 
rolling  away  towards  Cloud  Cliffs. 

"Is  it  about  Lilith?"  exclaimed  Hereward,  as  soon 
as  they  were  in  their  places. 

"Yes,  it  is  about  your  wife,"  gravely  responded  the 
rector. 

"But  what— what  about  Lilith?  What  has  hap- 
pened to  her?" 

"When  did  you  see  your  wife  last,  Hereward?"  eva- 
sively inquired  Mr.  Cave. 

"Weeks  ago!  That  is  not  the  question.  Lilith!  Is 
she — LIVING?  Tell  me — THAT!"  came  like  a  cry  from 
the  tortured  heart. 

The  rector  took  hold  of  his  shaking  hand,  and  speak- 
ing tenderly  and  solemnly,  answered. 

"Not  in  this  world,  my  poor  friend;  but  living,  we 
trust,  in  a  better  one." 

"Lilith — dead! — Lilith — DEAD!"  cried  the  young 
man,  with  an  anguish  in  tone  and  look  that  the  Chris* 
tian  minister  could  not  endure  to  behold. 

"Dead  to  this  world,  Hereward,  but  alive  to  a 
better  one,"  compassionately  answered  the  rector. 

Hereward  sank  back  in  his  seat  with  a  groan  that 


340  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

seemed  to  rend  his  bosom.  He  asked  no  more  ques- 
tions then. 

Lilith  was  dead! 

The  innocent  child-wife  who  had  been  the  tender, 
faithful,  devoted  daughter  to  his  father,  the  loving, 
worshiping,  ministering  wife  to  him,  whom  he  had 
driven  from  his  home,  into  the  pitiless  world,  had 
come  to  her  death,  as  it  was  indeed  most  likely  that 
she  should. 

The  Lord  had  taken  home  the  child  that  he  had  cast 
out. 

Lilith  was  dead! 

That  was  all;  and  in  that  was  the  sum  of  agony 
complete. 

The  rector  sat  holding  the  hand  of  the  stricken  man 
in  silent  sympathy,  venturing  no  word  of  consolation, 
because  just  then  and  there  such  words  would  have 
been  worse  than  useless. 

Minutes  passed  before  Hereward  spoke  again.  Then, 
in  a  broken  voice,  he  asked: 

"Where?— when?— how  did  she  die?" 

"Will  you  not  trust  my  friendship — my  discretion 
— when  I  counsel  you  not  to  talk  more  of  this  misfor- 
tune just  at  present?"  gently  inquired  the  rector. 

"But — I  must  know.  And — after  hearing  that — 
Lilith  is  dead — I  can  bear  anything  else  under  the  sun. 
Tell  me  all!"  said  the  miserable  husband,  persistently. 
"How  did  my  child  die?" 

"We  think  it  was  an  accident,"  gravely  replied  the 
rector. 

"Accident!"  echoed  the  young  man,  with  an  ap- 
palled look.  "Then  it  was  sudden — violent?  Oh, 
Lilith!" 

"It  was  sudden,  but  not  violent,"  said  the  rector, 
gently  taking  the  hand  of  the  heavily  stricken  man. 
"It  was  an  easy,  painless  passage  to  the  better  world. 
Oh,  Hereward!  my  dear  friend,  bear  up!" 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  341 

But  the  remorseful  husband  had  dropped  his  head 
in  his  open  hands,  and  his  sobs  shook  his  whole 
frame. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

AT    PEACE 

THE  rector,  feeling  the  most  painful  sympathy  with 
the  husband's  agony  of  grief,  yet  conscious  how 
utterly  helpless  he  himself  was  to  mitigate  that, 
agony,  and  how  much  worse  than  vain,  how  imper- 
tinent, all  words  of  attempted  consolation  must  seem, 
sat  by  his  friend,  holding  his  hand  in  silence. 

"What  was  the  manner  of  her  death?"  at  length 
inquired  Hereward,  in  a  very  low  voice  of  enforced 
steadiness. 

"It  was  quick  and  pitiless.  She  was  drowned,"  ten- 
derly and  solemnly  replied  the  rector. 

"  'Drowned!'  'Drowned!'  Lilith  'drowned!'  "  groaned 
the  young  man,  in  a  tone  of  deepest  anguish,  shud- 
dering through  his  whole  frame. 

"Oh,  Hereward,  Hereward!  would  to  Heaven  I  could 
say  or  do  aught  to  help  or  comfort  you!  No  mortal 
can  do  that.  There  is  but  One  who  can  both 
strengthen  and  console.  Call  on  Him,  dear  friend." 

"How — did — this — happen?"  inquired  the  young 
husband,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Can  you  bear  to  hear  the  details?"  gravely  ques- 
tioned Dr.  Cave. 

"Yes!  I  have  borne  to  hear  that  she  is  dead — that 
she  was  drowned — I  can  bear  to  hear  anything  after 
that.  Tell  me  all — everything."  replied  Hereward. 

"Then  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  on  the  last 
afternoon  when  she  was  alive  she  went  out  alone  ta 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

visit  a  sick  negro  woman  who  lives  in  a  hut  in  the 
thicket  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek — " 

"Yes,  yes!    I  know!     Go  on!" 

"It  was  growing  very  cold;  the  creek  was  covered 
with  a  thin  layer  of  ice,  and  the  narrow  plank  bridge 
was  sheathed  in  ice,  and  its  sides  are  undefended." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!    Go  on!" 

"It  seems  that  in  crossing  she  must  have  slipped 
and  fallen  off  the  bridge,  and  through  the  ice." 

"Oh,  Lilith!  Lilith!"  wailed  Hereward. 

The  rector  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  with  deep 
emotion. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Before  the  next  morning  the  creek  was  frozen  to 
the  bottom.  Before  the  next  night  it  was  covered  with 
a  deep  fall  of  snow." 

"I  know!    I  know!" 

"Therefore,  you  understand,  the  mortal  remains  of 
our  beloved  one  were  concealed  from  view." 

"But  in  the  thaw  and  freshet — " 

"In  the  great  freshet,  when  every  mountain  spring 
became  a  cascade,  and  the  creek  became  a  torrent,  it 
seems  that  the  force  of  the  current  carried  the  body 
down  into  a  ravine  in  the  lowest,  densest  part  of  the 
thicket,  half  a  mile  below  the  rustic  bridge,  to  a  spot 
where  it  lay  hidden  until  this  morning,  when  it  was 
accidentally  discovered  by  young  Hilary." 

"Why  do  you  stop?  Do  not  spare  me.  Go  on. 
Tell  me  all.  How  did  he  happen  to  find  it?" 

"Young  Hilary  was  out  with  his  gun  and  dogs,  after 
birds,  early  this  morning.  They  started  a  covey  in 
that  very  thicket — and — that  led  to  the  discovery. 
Do  not  ask  me  for  details  here,  my  friend.  I  cannot 
give  them.  Hilary  did  not  recognize  the  body;  but 
he  summoned  the  nearest  assistance  at  hand  and  had 
the  remains  taken  to  Cloud  Cliffs,  which  was  the 
nearest  house,  and  the  coroner  was  sent  for." 


"Who  first  recognized  the  body?" 

"The  servants  at  Cloud  Cliffs;  and  they  only  by  the 
hair,  shoes  and  clothing.  Then  they  sent  for  me,  as  a 
friend  of  the  family,  and  I  telegraphed  for  you  before 
going  to  the  Cliffs." 

"Did — you — see  it?"  moaned  Hereward,  in  an  al- 
most inaudible  voice. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  rector,  in  a  low  tone. 

"And  did  you — recognize  her?" 

"Yes — positively.  I  could  have  sworn  that  it  was 
the  body  of  our  dear  one — from  the  beautiful  hair, 
and  the  general  appearance.  But  let  us  not  talk  about 
this,  dear  Hereward.  You  must  brace  yourself  to 
meet  a  severe  trial.  We  are  drawing  near  the  Cliffs, 
you  know,  where  the  coroner's  inquest  is  sitting.  You 
will  be  expected  to  appear  before  it  to  answer  any 
questions  that  they  may  put  to  you.  And  I  would 
have  you  firm  and  self-possessed,  as  I  have  always 
known  you  to  be  on  trying  occasions,"  said  Mr.  Cave, 
earnestly. 

"But  this — this!  Ah,  Heaven!  how  shall  I  meet 
this?" 

They  were  turning  into  the  drive  that  led  to  the 
house  as  Hereward  said  this,  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

A  crowd,  such  as  is  always  attracted  by  a  sensa- 
tional tragedy  in  real  life,  had  collected  around  the 
house.  They  filled  the  piazza  and  all  the  ground  for 
an  acre  about  the  premises. 

"There  are  about  ten  times  as  many  people  on  the 
spot  as  there  were  when  I  left  the  house  this  morn- 
ing," muttered  the  rector  to  himself,  as  he  gazed  upon 
the  assembled  multitude. 

"I  should  scarcely  have  thought  that  there  were  so 
many  people  in  the  county,"  said  Hereward,  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  words  of  his  companion. 

"Geet  out'n  de  way,  can't  yer?  Cornfoun'  yer!  Does 


344  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

yer  want  to  be  druv  over  and  killed?  Sarve  yer  right 
ef  yer  was,"  grumbled  Stephen  on  the  box,  as  he  drove 
his  horses  slowly  and  half  rearing  through  the  crowd 
that  blocked  the  avenue,  but  that  stumbled  and 
floundered  away  to  the  right  and  left  to  make  room 
for  the  carriage  to  pass. 

Stephen  drew  up  his  horses  before  the  principal 
entrance,  in  the  midst  of  a  throng  of  people. 

Mr.  Cave  got  out  first,  and  then  gave  his  hand  to 
assist  Hereward,  who  walked  like  an  old  man  as  they 
ascended  the  stairs  and  passed  through  the  crowded 
piazza  into  the  crowded  hall. 

"Will  you  go  up  to  your  room  and  rest,  Hereward, 
before  you  go  to  the  inquest?"  kindly  inquired  Mr. 
Cave. 

"No,  no,  I  will  not  spare  myself.  I  will  go  before 
the  coroner  at  once.  Where  is  the  inquest  held?" 

"In  the  long  drawing-room,  which,  being  the  most 
spacious  apartment  in  the  house,  was  thought  to  be 
the  most  convenient  for  the  purpose." 

"Come,  then,  I  will  go  at  once,"  repeated  Hereward. 

A  bailiff  stood  at  the  door  to  keep  back  the  pressure 
of  the  crowd ;  but  he  made  way  for  the  rector  and  the 
stricken  master  of  the  house. 

The  room  was  full,  but  not  crowded,  because  it  was 
not  permitted  to  be  so. 

Dr.  Kerr,  who  stood  apparently  on  the  watch  for 
Hereward's  entrance,  came  towards  him,  and  with  a 
silent  pressure  of  the  hand  conducted  him  and  his 
companion  to  the  upper  end  of  the  room  to  seats  which 
had  been  kept  for  them. 

Hereward  sank  into  one  of  these  seats.  The  rector 
placed  himself  on  the  right  side  and  the  doctor  on  the 
left  of  their  unhappy  friend. 

The  centre  of  the  room  was  occupied  by  two  tables, 
one  long  one,  placed  lengthwise,  and  covered  with  a 
green  cloth,  at  the  head  of  which  sat  the  coroner,  and 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  345 

at  the  sides  the  jury,  six  on  the  right  and  six  on  the 
left. 

The  other  table  was  placed  crosswise  at  the  foot  of 
the  long  table,  and  was  draped  with  white  from  top  to 
floor.  Something  lay  on  this  table  covered  with  a 
white  sheet.  It  was  easy  to  know  what  was  concealed. 
A  strong  odor  of  chloride  of  lime  pervaded  the  air. 

At  this  moment  the  coroner  and  jury  were  listening 
to  the  deposition  of  a  man  with  a  mumbling  voice, 
who  was  telling  how  he  helped  to  lift  the  body  from 
the  ravine  in  which  it  was  wedged  and  to  bring  it  to 
the  house.  He  seemed  to  be  awed  or  frightened  half 
to  death,  and  the  tones  of  his  voice  scarcely  filled  a 
circle  of  three  yards  in  circumference. 

Hereward  was  duly  sworn,  and  then  the  coroner 
said: 

"Mr.  Hereward,  will  you  look  upon  the  dead  lying 
on  that  table  before  you,  and  tell  the  jury  if  you  recog- 
nize it?" 

Dr.  Kerr  took  the  young  man's  arm  and  led  him  to 
the  table,  saying  gently: 

"Tudor,  do  not  look  on  the  face.  It  is  utterly  un- 
recognizable, my  friend." 

And  then,  as  the  officer  in  attendance  took  off  the 
white  covering,  revealing  the  form  in  its  black  robes, 
the  doctor  defthr  covered  the  face  with  a  linen  hand- 
kerchief that  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Hereward  gave  one  agonized  glance,  and  turned  his 
head  with  a  groan  that  seemed  to  rend  his  bosom. 

Dr.  Kerr  led  him  away  from  the  spot,  and  the 
coroner  put  the  question: 

"Do  you  recognize  the  body  as  that  of  any  one  you 
have  known?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Hereward,  in  a  low  and  broken 
voice.  "It  is  that  of  Lilith,  my  wife." 

He  was  allowed  a  few  moments  in  which  to  recover 
himself,  and  then  the  coroner  said: 


346  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

"Mr.  Hereward,  will  you  tell  the  jury  when  and 
where  you  last  saw  the  deceased  alive?" 

Tudor  hesitated,  collected  himself  and  answered: 

"On  the  afternoon  of  the  twentieth  of  March  last, 
in  our  parlor  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  entrance  hall. 
She  left  me  to  go  to  her  room.  I  have  not  seen  her 
since." 

"When  did  you  first  know  that  she  was  missing?" 

"At  our  usual  tea  hour,  when  it  was  discovered  that 
she  was  not  in  the  house." 

"Was  search  made  for  her  at  the  time?" 

"Yes,  very  diligent  search,  both  in  the  house  and 
about  the  grounds  that  night,  and  throughout  the 
neighborhood  in  the  days  that  followed." 

"And  when  was  the  search  abandoned?" 

"It  has  never  been  abandoned,  although  it  has  been 
conducted  with  discretion,  to  avoid  useless  publicity 
as  far  as  was  consistent  with  its  object." 

"Did  you  know  of  the  deceased's  intention  to  cross 
the  creek  to  visit  the  sick  woman  that  night?" 

"No.  I  knew  nothing  of  such  an  intention  on  her 
part." 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Hereward.  It  has  really  pained 
us  all,  I  am  sure,  to  put  you  through  this  distressing 
ordeal.  You  may  retire  now." 

"Come  out,  Hereward.  Do  not  linger  here,"  said 
Dr.  Kerr,  taking  the  arm  of  the  young  man,  and  lead- 
ing him  through  the  crowd  out  of  the  room  and  into 
the  little  parlor  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall. 

Here  also  they  were  soon  joined  by  the  rector  and  a 
bailiff,  who  came  to  call  the  doctor  in  to  give  evidence 
upon  some  point  that  had  been  raised. 

When  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cave  was  left  alone  with  Here- 
ward he  drew  a  chair  to  his  side,  seated  himself,  and 
took  the  hand  of  the  young  man  in  his  own,  saying, 
with  tender  gravity: 

"Tudor,  will  you  confide  in  the  old  friend  who  has 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

lived  among  you  and  ministered  to  your  family  for 
forty  years;  who  married  your  parents;  who  was  with 
them  each  in  their  dying  hour;  baptized  your  wife, 
and  married  you — will  you  confide  in  this  old  friend 
and  take  counsel  with  him?" 

"It  is  what  I  most  wish  to  do,"  breathed  the 
younger  man. 

"Then  tell  me  first,  Tudor,  dear  boy,  how  it  hap- 
pened that  she  lay  dead  four  weeks,  during  the  whole 
of  which  time  you  had  missed  her,  yet  had  given  no 
sign  of  her  absence  to  us,  your  neighbors  here  and 
your  oldest  friends?"  Dr.  Cave  inquired,  gently  yet 
earnestly. 

Hereward  passed  his  hand  once  or  twice  across  his 
troubled  brow7;  but  he  did  not  reply  promptly. 

The  rector  continued: 

"Your  answers  to  the  questions  put  to  you  before 
the  coroner's  inquest  were  clear  and  pointed  enough. 
Yet  it  seems  to  me  that  other  questions — had  they  oc- 
curred to  the  coroner — might  have  been  put  that  must 
have  drawn  out  answers  which  would  have  thrown  a 
new  light  on  this  subject." 

"Not  on  the  cause  or  the  manner  of  the  death,  which 
must  have  been  just  as  circumstances  and  appearances 
indicate." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  It  was  in  accordance  with 
Lilitbrs  character  that  after  having  heard  of  the  sick 
woman  across  the  creek,  and  even  after  having  sent 
some  relief  to  her  by  Nancy,  and  having  received  the 
report  of  the  housekeeper,  she  should  still  have  felt 
so  much  interested  in  the  case  as  to  have  suddenly 
resolved  to  visit  the  patient  in  person.  It  was  not  late 
and  the  distance  was  short,  and  our  child,  as  brave 
as  she  was  tender-hearted,  started  out  alone.  And 
the  light,  careless  step,  and  the  icy  crossing — did  the 
rest!"  said  Hereward,  with  a  half-suppressed  sob. 


3*8  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

"So  persuaded  were  all  the  household  their  mistress 
had  gone  thither,  that  the  cabin  was  the  first  place 
visited  after  the  house  had  been  fruitlessly  searched. 
But  she  had  not  been  there.  So  she  must  have  fallen 
into  the  creek  in  going,  not  in  returning.  I  crossed  the 
creek  twice,  in  going  and  in  returning.  It  was  frozen 
hard  and  covered  by  a  new  fall  of  snow.  There  was  no 
sign  to  indicate  that  a  catastrophe  had  occurred.  No 
sign  of  what  lay  beneath  the  snow  and  ice.  During  the 
six  days  following  her  disappearance  I  made  the  most 
diligent  search  in  this  neighborhood  that  could  have 
been  made  without  giving  publicity  to  the  affair.  I 
visited  every  house  with  which  we  were  acquainted, 
knowing  that  I  should  discover,  without  asking, 
whether  she  had  been  seen  by  any  of  the  inmates. 
Finally  I  felt  convinced  that  Lilith  had  left  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  I  returned  to  Washington  to  resume  my 
official  duties,  and  also  to  put  the  case  of  my  missing 
wife  into  the  hands  of  a  confidential  detective.  I 
was  still  privately  pursuing  the  search,  when  your 
alarming  telegram  brought  me  back  here." 

"But — Tudor,  dear  friend,  why  should  you  have  pur- 
sued your  search  privately?  Why,  when  you  discov- 
ered that  your  wife  had  disappeared  from  this  neigh- 
borhood, did  you  not  call  in  the  assistance  of  friends 
and  neighbors  and  the  local  authorities  to  assist  you 
in  the  search?" 

Tudor  Hereward  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  he  answered  by  asking  another  question. 

"Would  that  course  have  done  the  least  good  under 
the  circumstances  which  have  this  day  come  to  light?" 

"No,  it  would  not;  but  still  the  question  remains, 
my  dear  friend,  why  you  did  not  call  in  your  friends 
in  your  distress." 

"First,  then,  because  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose 
that  Lilith  had  met  with  any  fatal  accident." 

"Not  when  she  was  so  mysteriously  missing?" 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  349 

"No.  And  now  I  am  about  to  relieve  ray  mind  by 
telling  you  what  I  thank  Heaven  that  no  question 
from  the  coroner  or  the  jury  obliged  me  to  reveal  at 
the  inquest." 

Hereward  paused  again  to  control  his  rising  emo- 
tion, and  then  went  on : 

"When  I  discovered  at  length  that  my  wife  had  cer- 
tainly disappeared,  I  came  to  the  strong  conclusion 
that  she  had  left  me." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Cave  gazed  at  his  parishioner  as  if  he 
suspected  that  the  young  man's  troubles  had  suddenly 
driven  him  mad! 

"You  came  to  the  conclusion  that  your  wife  had  left 
you!  That  Lilith  had  done  such  a  deed  as  that!"  he 
exclaimed,  at  length. 

"Yes;  and  I  had  the  strongest  reasons  for  such  a 
conviction,"  despondently  replied  Hereward. 

"That  Lilith — our  Lilith,  our  tender,  delicate,  re- 
fined, devoted  child — had  left  her  husband!" 

"Yes!  yes!  yes!"  impatiently,  despairingly,  but  per- 
sistently replied  Hereward. 

"For  what  cause,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  and 
earth?"  demanded  the  rector. 

"For  a  most  just  cause! — I  drove  her  from  me!" 

"TUDOR!  Have  you  the  least  idea  what  you  are  say- 
ing?" 

"Yes — I  drove  my  wife  away!" 

"Heaven  and  earth,  you  are  MAD!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  THUNDERBOLT 

THE  rector  sat  listening  to  Hereward's  self-accusa- 
tions in  speechless  amazement.  At  last  he  spoke, 
slowly  and  emphatically: 


350  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

"In  the  course  of  my  ministry  of  half  a  century  I 
have  seen  many  strange  phases  of  human  nature,  but 
none  so  strange  as  this.  It  must  indeed  have  been 
a  most  monstrous  and  unpardonable  outrage  that 
drove  a  timid,  refined,  and  most  religious  child  like 
Lilith  to  leave  the  sanctuary  of  her  husband's  house 
and  throw  herself  upon  the  world!" 

"It  was  all  that!  It  was  a  cruel,  monstrous,  unpar- 
donable outrage  that  drove  her  away!''  groaned  Here- 
ward. 

"And — there  must  have  been  madness  in  the  man 
who  committed  this  outrage." 

"There  was  madness — frenzy!" 

"And  it  must  have  been  a  fatal  combination  of  de- 
ceptive circumstances  that  hurried  a  man  of  your  judg- 
ment and  self-control  into  such  desperate  passion." 

"Again  you  are  right.  A  set  of  circumstances  so 
evil  and  even  criminal  in  appearance,  that  they  must 
have  overwhelmed  the  self-poise  of  a  man  much  wiser, 
better  and  stronger  than  myself.  But  I  had  better 
tell  you  all,  from  the  beginning;  for  these  domestic 
troubles  really  had  their  commencement  in  the  very 
first  week  of  our  marriage." 

"I  have  been  so  amazed  by  what  you  have  already 
told  me,  Tudor,  that  there  is  scarcely  any  possible 
thing  you  could  say  that  would  surprise  me  now. 
Go  on." 

Then  Hereward  began  from  the  time  when  he  first 
left  Lilith,  on  the  day  after  Major  Hereward's  funeral, 
being  the  fifth  day  after  their  marriage  at  the  death- 
bed of  his  father,  and  he  told  of  his  parting  with  his 
young  wife  that  night,  at  the  Frosthill  depot;  of  his 
railway  journey  to  Washington  in  the  great  snow- 
storm that  followed;  of  his  week's  anxiety  about 
Lilith;  of  the  strange  letter  that  he  received  from 
Alick  informing  him  of  the  sojourn  of  a  young  strol- 
ling player  at  Cloud  Cliffs;  of  his  determination  to 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  351 

return  and  bring  Lilith  to  Washington;  of  his  railway 
journey  home,  and  of  the  conversation  he  heard  in 
the  cars,  reflecting  on  the  conduct  of  Lilith  and  her 
most  unfitting  guest. 

"But  you  never,  from  idle  gossip,  could  have  be- 
lieved Lilith  capable  of  levity  or  the  least  degree  of 
impropriety!"  interrupted  the  rector. 

"No,  not  then.  Certainly  not  then.  But  afterwards, 
as  you  shall  hear,  there  were  circumstances  that  might 
have  convinced  even  you." 

"Of  what?  Of  Lilith's  impropriety?  Never!  The 
child  had  grown  up  like  a  white  flower  just  under  my 
eye.  I  know  her  too  well." 

"Your  faith  does  Lilith  no  more  than  justice;  yet 
when  you  have  heard  the  evidence  you  will  not  wonder 
that  mine  was  shaken  to  its  foundation." 

"Let  me  hear  it,  then,"  said  the  rector  incredu- 
lously. 

And  Hereward  resumed  his  confession;  told  how  he 
had  taken  Lilith  to  Washington  with  him;  how  bright, 
useful  and  helpful  she  had  been,  and  how  happy  their 
married  life  was  beginning  to  be,  when  the  same 
strolling  player  appeared  in  Washington  and,  like  the 
serpent  in  Eden,  destroyed  all  their  peace. 

"Dear  Tudor,  was  it  not  your  morbid  jealousy  that 
destroyed  your  peace?"  inquired  the  rector. 

And  Hereward  told  how  he  had  brought  Lilith  down 
to  Cloud  Cliffs  on  Friday,  the  16th  ultimo;  had  re- 
turned to  Washington  on  Saturday,  the  17th,  to  at- 
tend a  caucus;  and  how  on  Tuesday  morning  a  mis- 
sent  letter  had  fallen  into  his  hands,  directed  to  his 
wife;  how,  acting  upon  a  mutual  understanding  that 
each,  in  the  absence  of  the  other,  should  open  all 
letters  not  marked  "private,"  he  had  opened  and  read 
this  one. 

Here  Hereward  drew  from  his  pocket  that  first  fatal 
letter  from  Ancillon  to  Lilith,  proposing  to  take  ad- 


352  THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

vantage  of  the  return  of  her  husband  to  the  city  an- 
appointing  a  meeting  with  herself  at  Cloud  Cliffs  o 
Monday  evening,  the  18th. 

Hereward  watched  the  face  of  the  rector,  as  he  rea*l 
the  letter,  saw  the  old  man's  brow  contract  and  his 
lips  compress  in  pain  and  wrath. 

When  Mr.  Cave  had  finished  reading,  he  handed  it 
back  to  Hereward  in  stern  silence. 

"What  do  you  think  now,  Mr.  Cave?"  inquired  the 
young  man,  as  he  returned  the  letter  to  its  envelope 
and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 

"What  do  I  think?  That  the  unhappy  child  was  the 
dupe  of  some  deeply-dyed  villain!  And  yet  I  believe 
her  to  have  been  a  most  innocent  dupe!  She  has  gone 
before  her  Heavenly  Father  and  Judge  now!  She  has 
no  power  to  explain  her  conduct  or  defend  herself  to 
us!"  said  the  rector,  sternly  and  sorrowfully. 

"Heaven  knows,"  continued  the  young  man,  "that  I 
never  meant  to  drive  her  from  her  home;  nor  ever 
dreamed  that  she  would  go!  Even  in  my  blind  rage  I 
could  not  have  turned  the  child  out  of  doors  on  a  bitter 
cold  night.  No,  even  then  I  had  some  vague  idea  of 
leaving  her  in  peace  here,  until  the  rising  of  Congress 
should  afford  me  leisure  to  attend  to  her  case,  and 
make  a  home  and  provision  for  her  at  some  safe  dis- 
tance from  the  house  that  I  believed  she  had — " 

"No!  Stop!  Do  not  finish  that  sentence!  The  dead 
child  may  have  been  foolish;  but  she  was  innocent!'' 

To  his  surprise,  Hereward,  instead  of  contesting  this 
point,  suddenly  caught  the  hand  of  his  old  friend  and 
pressed  it  warmly,  wrhile  he  said : 

"God  bless  you  for  saying  that!  It  is  very  strange; 
but  my  thoughts  of  Lilith,  my  feelings  towards  her 
have  all  been  revolutionized  since  I  lost  her!  I  look 
upon  my  past  mood  as  simple  madness;  and  despite 
all  the  stubborn  facts  of  the  letters  and  the  meetings 
I  believe  the  poor  child  to  have  been  blameless!" 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE  353 

And  then  silence  fell  between  the  two  men,  and 
lasted  until  it  was  broken  by  the  entrance  of  Dr.  Kerr, 
who  came  in  to  announce  that  the  coroner's  inquest 
was  over. 

"And  the  verdict  could  have  been  no  other  than 
'Accidental  death,'  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Cave,  while 
Tudor  Herewrard  lifted  his  pale  face  inquiringly. 

"No,"  solemnly  replied  the  doctor,  "the  verdict  was 
not  'Accidental  death.'  " 

"What  was  it,  then?  I  don't  understand,"  said  Mr. 
Cave. 

"I  will  read  the  verdict  to  you.  I  would  rather  read 
it  than  tell  it,"  sighed  the  doctor,  as  he  unfolded  a 
paper  that  he  held  in  his  hands  and  read  aloud — 
slowly  lingering  upon  the  preliminary  formula  as  if 
shrinking  from  the  terrible  words  that  came  at  last : 

"That  Lilith  Hereward  came  to  her  death  on  the 
night  of  March  20th,  by  a  blow  on  the  head  from  some 
blunt,  heavy  weapon,  held  in  the  hand  of  some  person 
unknown." 

"Look  to  Tudor!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Kerr,  when  he  had 
finished  reading;  for  the  strong  young  man  had  fallen 
like  a  felled  ox  to  the  floor. 

It  was  sunset  before  quiet  was  restored  to  Cloud 
Cliffs.  Dr.  Kerr  and  Mr.  Cave  watched  alternately 
by  the  bedside  of  Tudor  Hereward  through  the  whole 
night. 

In  the  morning  Dr.  Kerr  announced  his  intention  of 
telegraphing  to  Baltimore  for  an  eminent  specialist  on 
brain  and  nerve  diseases  to  come  down  and  hold  a  con- 
sultation on  the  case  of  his  patient,  which  he  declared 
to  be  very  critical. 

Mr.  Cave  took  charge  of  the  arrangements  for  the 
funeral,  which  circumstances  rendered  necessary 
should  be  both  speedy  and  quiet. 


THE  UNLOVED  WIFE 

That  afternoon  Dr.  Sloane  arrived  from  Baltimore 
and  remained  overnight. 

The  next  morning  the  symptoms  of  the  patient  were 
rather  more  favorable,  and  the  Baltimore  physician, 
having  left  careful  directions  for  his  treatment,  re- 
turned to  his  own  home. 

In  the  course  of  that  day  the  remains  of  the  unfor- 
tunate girl  were  taken  to  the  Church  of  St.  Mark's  at 
Frosthill,  where  they  were  met  by  a  large  number  of 
the  friends  of  the  family. 

Mr.  Cave  performed  the  funeral  services,  and  during 
their  course  paid  a  touching  tribute  to  the  character 
of  the  martyred  girl. 

And  finally,  just  as  the  sun  went  down,  the  coffin 
was  lowered  into  the  grave  beside  that  of  the  elder 
Tudor  Hereward  in  the  family  burial  lot. 

After  this  the  friends  dispersed  to  their  homes. 

Dr.  Kerr,  with  a  long  following  of  weeping  servants, 
returned  to  Cloud  Cliffs  to  resume  his  faithful  watch 
beside  the  bed  of  his  young  friend. 

The  story  of  Lilith  Hereward's  tragic  death  was 
taken  up  by  all  the  newspapers;  but  as  "mysterious 
murders"  are  too  woefully  common,  it  was  read  with 
but  a  passing  thought  or  comment,  everywhere  except 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Frosthill  and  in  Washington. 

In  both  these  places,  where  Lilith  was  known  and 
loved  so  well,  it  caused  a  most  painful  sensation. 

But  all  this  had  passed  away,  and  the  long  session 
of  Congress  had  come  to  an  end  before  Tudor  Here- 
ward  recovered. 


[The  sequel  to  this  story  is  published  in  another 
volume,  entitled,  "Lilith,"  and  is  published  in  uniform 
style  and  price  with  this  volume.] 

THE   END 


BURT'J  SERIES  of  STANDARD  FICTION. 

RICHELIEU.  A  tale  of  France  in  the  reign  of  King  Louis  XIII.  By  G.  P. 
R.  James.  Cloth,  i2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

In  1829  Mr.  Jamea  published  hla  first  romance,  "Richelieu,"  and  was 
recognized  at  once  as  one  of  the  masters  of  the  craft. 

In  this  book  he  laid  the  story  during  those  later  days  of  the  great  car- 
dinal's life,  when  his  power  was  beginning  to  wane,  but  while  it  was 
yet  sufficiently  strong  to  permit  now  and  then  of  volcanic  outbursts  which 
overwhelmed  foes  and  carried  friends  to  the  topmost  wave  of  prosperity. 
One  of  the  most  striking  portions  of  the  story  Is  that  of  Cinq  Mar's  conspir- 
acy; the  method  of  conducting  criminal  cases,  and  the  political  trickery 
resorted  to  by  royal  favorites,  affording  a  better  insight  into  the  state- 
craft of  that  day  than  can  be  had  even  by  an  exhaustive  study  of  history. 
It  is  a  powerful  romance  of  love  and  diplomacy,  and  in  point  of  thrilling: 
and  absorbing  interest  has  never  been  excelled. 

A  COLONIAL  FREE-LANCE.  A  story  of  American  Colonial  Times.  By 
Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

A  book  that  appeals  to  Americans  as  a  vivid  picture  of  Revolutionary 
scenes.  The  story  is  a  strong  one,  a  thrilling  one.  It  causes  the  true 
American  to  flush  with  excitement,  to  devour  chapter  after  chapter,  until 
the  eyes  smart,  and  it  fairly  smokes  with  patriotism.  The  love  story  is  a 
singularly  charming  idyl. 

THE  TOWER  OF  LONDON.  A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Times  of  Lady 
Jane  Grey  and  Mary  Tudor.  By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainswortb.  Cloth,  izmo.  with 
four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.  Price,  |i.oo. 

This  romance  of  the  "Tower  of  London"  depicts  the  Tower  as  palace, 
prison  and  fortress,  with  many  historical  associations.  The  era  is  the 
middle  of  the  sixteenth  century- 

The  story  Is  divided  into  two  parts,  one  dealing  with  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
and  the  other  with  Mary  Tudor  as  Queen,  introducing  other  notable  char- 
acters of  the  era.  Throughout  the  story  holds  the  interest  of  the  reader 
in  the  midst  of  intrigue  and  conspiracy,  extending  considerably  over  a 
half  a  century. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KING.  A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched  in  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery, 
and  true  love  that  thrills  from  beginning  to  end,  with  the  spirit  of  the 
Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly,  and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a 
part  in  the  exciting  scenes  described.  His  whole  story  Is  so  absorbing 
that  you  will  sit  up  far  into  the  night  to  finish  it.  As  a  love  romance 
It  is  charming. 

GARTHOWEN.  A  story  of  a  Welsh  Homestead.  By  Allen  Raine.  Cloth, 
I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

"This  is  a  little  idyl  of  humble  life  and  enduring  love,  laid  bare  before 
us,  very  real  and  pure,  which  in  its  telling  shows  us  some  strong  points  ot 
Welsh  character— the  pride,  the  hasty  temper,  the  quick  dying  out  ol  wrath. 
.  .  .  We  call  this  a  well-written  story,  interesting  alike  through  its 
romance  and  its  glimpses  Into  another  life  than  ours.  A  delightful  and 
clever  picture  of  Welsh  village  life.  The  result  is  excellent."— Detroit  Free 
Press. 

MIFANWY.  The  story  of  a  Welsh  Singer.  By  Allan  Raine.  Cloth, 
izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

"This  is  a  love  story,  simple,  tender  and  pretty  as  one  would  care  to 
read.  The  action  throughout  is  brisk  and  pleasing;  the  characters,  it  is  ap- 
parent at  once,  are  as  true  to  life  as  though  the  author  had  known  them 
all  personally.  Simple  in  all  its  situations,  the  story  is  worked  up  in  that 
touching  and  quaint  strain  which  never  grows  wearisome,  no  matter  how 
often  the  lights  and  shadows  of  love  are  introduced.  It  rings  true,  and 
doe*  not  tax  the  Imagination."— Boston  Herald. 


BUIVT'S  SERIES  of  STANDARD   FICTION. 

DARNLEY.  A  Romance  of  the  times  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  iztno.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis. 
Price,  $i  .00. 

As  a  historical  romance  "Darnley"  is  a  book  that  can  be  taken  up 
I'leasurably  again  and  again,  for  there  is  about  it  that  subtle  charm  which 
those  -who  are  strangers  to  the  works  of  G.  P.  R.  James  have  claimed  was 
only  to  be  imparted  by  Dumas. 

If  there  was  nothing  more  about  the  work  to  attract  especial  attention, 
the  account  of  the  meeting  of  the  kings  on  the  historic  "field  of  the  cloth  of 
gold"  would  entitle  the  story  to  the  most  favorable  consideration  of  every 
reader. 

There  is  really  but  Httte  pure  romance  in  this  story,  for  the  author  has 
taken  care  to  imagine  love  passages  only  between  those  whom  history  has 
credited  with  having  entertained  the  tender  passion  one  for  another,  and 
he  succeeds  in  making  such  lovers  as  all  the  world  must  love. 

WINDSOR  CASTLE.    A  Historical  Romance  of  the  Reign  of  Henry  VIII 
Catharine  of  Aragon  and  Anne  Boleyn.    By  Wm.  Harrison  Ainsworth.    Cloth. 
i2ruo.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank.    Price,  $1.00. 

"Windsor  Castle"  Is  the  story  of  Henry  VIII.,  Catharine,  and  Anne 
Boleyn.  "Bluff  King  Hal,"  although  a  well-loved  monarch,  was  none  too 
good  a  one  in  many  ways.  Of  all  his  selfishness  and  unwarrantable  acts, 
none  was  more  discreditable  than  his  divorce  from  Catharine,  and  his  mar- 
riage to  the  beautiful  Anne  Boleyn.  The  King's  love  was  as  brief  as  it 
was  vehement.  Jane  Seymour,  waiting  maid  on  the  Queen,  attracted  him, 
and  Anne  Boleyn  was  forced  to  the  block  to  make  room  for  her  successor. 
This  romance  is  one  of  extreme  interest  to  all  readers. 

HORSESHOE  ROBINSON.  A  tale  of  the  Tory  Ascendency  in  South  Caro- 
lina in  1780.  By  John  P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J. 
Watson  Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

Among  the  old  favorites  in  the  field  of  what  is  known  as  historical  fic- 
tion, there  are  none  which  appeal  to  a  larger  number  of  Americans  than 
Horseshoe  Robinson,  and  this  because  it  is  the  only  story  which  depicts 
with  fidelity  to  the  facts  the  heroic  efforts  of  the  colonists  in  South  Caro- 
lina to  defend  their  homes  against  the  brutal  oppression  of  the  British 
under  such  leaders  as  Cornwallis  and  Tarleton. 

The  reader  is  charmed  with  the  story  of  love  which  forms  the  thread 
of  the  tale,  and  then  Impressed  with  the  wealth  of  detail  concerning  those 
times.  The  picture  of  the  manifold  sufferings  of  the  people,  is  never  over- 
drawn, but  painted  faithfully  and  honestly  by  one  who  spared  neither 
time  nor  labor  In  his  efforts  to  present  in  this  charming  love  story  all  that 
price  in  blood  and  tears  which  the  Carolinians  paid  as  their  share  in  the 
winning  of  the  republic. 

Take  it  all  in  all,  "Horseshoe  Robinson"  is  a  work  which  should  be 
found  on  every  book-shelf,  not  only  because  it  is  a  most  entertaining 
story,  but  because  of  the  wealth  of  valuable  information  concerning  the 
colonists  which  it  contains.  That  it  has  been  brought  out  once  more,  well 
illustrated,  18  something  which  will  give  pleasure  to  thousands  who  have 
long  desired  an  opportunity  to  read  the  story  again,  and  to  the  many  who 
have  tried  vainly  In  these  latter  days  to  procure  a  copy  that  they  might 
read  It  for  the  first  time. 

THE  PEARL  OF  ORR'S  ISLAND.  A  story  of  the  Coast  of  Maine.  By 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.  Cloth,  i2mo.  Illustrated.  Price,  $1.00. 

Written  prior  to  1862,  the  "Pearl  of  Orr's  Island"  IB  ever  new;  a  book 
filled  with  delicate  fancies,  such  as  seemingly  array  themselves  anew  each 
time  one  reads  them.  One  sees  the  "sea  like  an  unbroken  mirror  all 
around  the  pine-girt,  lonely  shores  of  Orr's  Island,"  and  straightway 
comes  "the  heavy,  hollow  moan  of  the  surf  on  the  beach,  like  the  wild 
angry  howl  of  some  savage  animal." 

Who  can  read  of  the  beginning  of  that  sweet  life,  named  Mara,  which 
came  into  this  world  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  Death  angel's  wings, 
without  having  an  intense  desire  to  know  how  the  premature  bud  blos- 
somed? Again  and  again  one  lingers  over  the  descriptions  of  the  char- 
acter of  that  baby  boy  Moses,  who  came  through  the  tempest,  amid  the 
angry  billows,  pillowed  on  his  dead  mother's  breast. 

There  is  no  more  faithful  portrayal  of  New  England  life  than  that 
Which  Mrs.  Stowe  gives  In  "The  Pearl  of  Orr's  Island." 


PURT'5  SERIES  of  STANDARD  FICTION. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  BORDER.  A  Romance  of  the  Early  Settlers  in  the 
Ohio  Valley.  By  Znae  Grey.  Cloth.  i2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price, |i. oo. 

A  book  rather  out  of  the  ordinary  is  this  "Spirit  of  the  Border  "  The 
main  thread  of  the  story  has  to  do  with  the  work  of  the  Moravian  mis- 
sionaries in  the  Ohio  Valley.  Incidentally  the  reader  is  given  details  of  the 
frontier  life  of  those  hardy  pioneers  who  broke  the  wilderness  for  the  plant- 
ing of  this  great  nation.  Chief  among  these,  as  a  matter  of  course,  la 
Lewis  Wetzel,  one  of  the  most  peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
admirable  of  all  the  brave  men  who  spent  their  lives  battling  with  the 
savage  foe,  that  others  might  dwell  in  comparative  security. 

Details  of  the  establishment  and  destruction  of  the  Moravian  "Village 
of  Peace"  are  given  at  some  length,  and  with  minute  description.  The 
efforts  to  Christianize  the  Indians  are  described  as  they  never  have  been 
before,  and  the  author  has  depicted  the  characters  of  the  leaders  of  the 
several  Indian  tribes  with  great  care,  which  of  itself  will  be  of  interest  to 
the  student. 

By  no  means  least  among  the  charms  of  thp  story  are  the  vlvfd  word- 
pictures  of  the  thrilling  adventures,  and  the  intense  paintings  of  the  beau- 
ties of  nature,  as  seen  in  the  almost  unbroken  forests. 

It  is  the  spirit  of  the  frontier  which  is  described,  and  one  can  by  it, 
perhaps,  the  better  understand  why  men,  and  women,  too,  willingly  braved 
every  privation  and  danger  that  the  westward  progress  of  the  star  of  em- 
pire might  be  the  more  certain  and  rapid.  A  love  story,  simple  and  tender, 
runs  through  the  book. 

CAPTAIN  BRAND,  OF  THE  SCHOONER  CENTIPEDE.  By  I,ieut. 
Henry  A.  Wise,  U.  S.  N.  (Harry  Gringo).  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  illustra- 
tions by  J.  Watson  Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

The  re-publication  of  this  story  will  please  those  lovers  of  sea  yarns 
who  delight  in  so  much  of  the  salty  flavor  of  the  ocean  as  can  come  through 
the  medium  of  a  printed  page,  for  never  has  a  story  of  the  sea  and  those 
"who  go  down  in  ships"  been  written  by  one  more  familiar  with  the  scenes 
depicted. 

The  one  book  of  this  gifted  author  which  is  best  remembered,  and  which 
will  b«  read  with  pleasure  for  many  years  to  come,  is  "Captain  Brand," 
who,  as  the  author  states  on  his  title  page,  was  a  "pirate  of  eminence  in 
the  West  Indies."  As  a  sea  story  pure  and  simple,  "Captain  Brand"  has 
never  been  excelled,  and  as  a  story  of  piratical  life,  told  without  the  usual 
embellishments  of  blood  and  thunder,  it  has  no  equal. 

NICK  OF  THE  WOODS.  A  story  of  the  Early  Settlers  of  Kentucky.  By 
Robert  Montgomery  Bird.  Cloth,  1210.0.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  $1.00. 

This  most  popular  novel  and  thrilling  story  of  early  frontier  life  In 
Kentucky  was  originally  published  in  the  year  1837.  The  novel,  long  out  of 
print,  had  In  its  day  a  phenomenal  sale,  for  its  realistic  presentation  of 
Indian  and  frontier  life  in  the  early  days  of  settlement  in  the  South,  nar- 
rated in  the  tale  with  all  the  art  of  a  practiced  writer.  A  very  charming 
love  romance  runs  through  the  story.  This  new  and  tasteful  edition  of 
"Nick  of  the  Woods"  will  be  certain  to  make  many  new  admirers  for 
this  enchanting  story  from  Dr.  Bird's  clever  and  versatile  pen. 

GUY  FAWKES.  A  Romance  of  the  Gunpowder  Treason.  By  Wm.  Harri- 
son Ainsworth.  Cloth,  121110.  with  four  illustrations  by  George  Cruikshank. 
Price,  $1.00. 

The  "Gunpowder  Plot"  was  a  modest  attempt  to  blow  up  Parliament, 
the  King  and  his  Counsellors.  James  of  Scotland,  then  King  of  England, 
was  weak-minded  and  extravagant.  He  hit  upon  the  efficient  scheme  of 
extorting  money  from  the  people  by  Imposing  taxes  on  the  Catholics.  In 
their  natural  resentment  to  this  extortion,  a  handful  of  bold  spirits  con- 
cluded to  overthrow  the  government.  Finally  the  plotters  were  arrested, 
and  the  King  put  to  torture  Guy  Fawkes  and  the  other  prisoners  with 
royal  vigor.  A  very  intense  love  story  runs  through  the  entire  romance. 


HURT'S  SERIES  of  STANDARD  FICTION. 

TICONDEROQA  :  A  Story  of  Early  Frontier  Life  in  the  Mohawk  Valley. 
By  G.  P.  R.  James.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  page  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  Ji.oo. 

The  setting  of  the  story  Is  decidedly  more  picturesque  than  any  ever 
evolved  by  Cooper:  The  frontier  of  New  York  State,  where  dwelt  an  English 
gentleman,  driven  from  his  native  home  by  grief  over  the  loss  of  his  wife, 
with  a  son  and  daughter.  Thither,  brought  by  the  exigencies  of  war,  cornea 
an  English  officer,  who  is  readily  recognized  as  that  Lord  Howe  who  met  his 
death  at  Ticonderoga.  As  a  most  natural  sequence,  even  amid  the  hostile 
demonstrations  of  both  French  and  Indians,  Lord  Howe  and  the  young  girl 
find  time  to  make  most  deliciously  sweet  love,  and  the  son  of  the  recluse  has 
already  lost  his  heart  to  the  daughter  of  a  great  sachem,  a  dusky  maiden 
whose  warrior-father  has  surrounded  her  with  all  the  comforts  of  a  civilized 
life. 

The  character  of  Captain  Brooks,  who  voluntarily  decides  to  sacrifice  his 
own  life  in  order  to  save  the  son  of  the  Englishman,  is  not  among  the  least 
of  the  attractions  of  this  story,  which  holds  the  attention  of  the  reader  even 
to  the  last  page.  The  tribal  laws  and  folk  lore  of  the  different  tribes  of 
Indians  known  as  the  "Five  Nations,"  with  which  the  story  Is  interspersed, 
shows  that  the  author  gave  no  small  amount  of  study  to  the  work  in  question, 
and  nowhere  else  is  it  shown  more  plainly  than  by  the  skilful  manner  in 
which  he  has  interwoven  with  his  plot  the  "blood"  law,  which  demands  a 
life  for  a  life,  whether  it  be  that  of  the  murderer  or  one  of  his  race. 

A  more  charming  story  of  mingled  love  and  adventure  has  never  been 
written  than  "Ticonderoga." 

ROB  OF  TH  E  BOWL  :  A  Story  of  the  Early  Days  of  Maryland.  By  John 
P.  Kennedy.  Cloth,  izmo.  with  four  page  illustrations  by  J.  Watson  Davis. 
Price,  $1.00. 

It  was  while  he  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  Maryland  that  the 
noted  statesman  wrote  this  story  regarding  the  early  history  of  his  native 
State,  and  while  some  critics  are  inclined  to  consider  "Horse  Shoe  Robinson" 
as  the  best  of  his  works,  it  is  certain  that  "Rob  of  the  Bowl"  stands  at  the 
head  of  the  list  as  a  literary  production  and  an  authentic  exposition  of  the 
manners  and  customs  during  Lord  Baltimore's  rule.  The  greater  portion  of 
the  action  takes  place  in  St.  Mary's — the  original  capital  of  the  State. 

As  a  series  of  pictures  of  early  colonial  life  in  Maryland,  "Rob  of  the 
Bowl"  has  no  equal,  and  the  book,  having  been  written  by  one  who  had 
exceptional  facilities  for  gathering  material  concerning  the  individual  mem- 
bers of  the  settlements  in  and  about  St.  Mary's,  is  a  most  valuable  addition 
to  the  history  of  the  State. 

The  story  is  full  of  splendid  action,  with  a  charming  love  story,  and  a 
plot  that  never  loosens  the  grip  of  its  interest  to  its  last  page. 

BY  BERWEN  BANKS.    By  Allen  Raine. 

It  is  a  tender  and  beautiful  romance  of  the  idyllic.  A  charming  picture 
of  life  in  a  Welsh  seaside  village.  It  is  something  of  a  prose-poem,  true, 
tender  and  graceful. 

IN  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  KINS.  A  romance  of  the  American  Revolution. 
By  Chauncey  C,  Hotchkiss.  Cloth,  I2mo.  with  four  illustrations  by  J.  Watson 
Davis.  Price,  }i.oo. 

The  story  opens  in  the  month  of  April,  1775,  with  the  provincial  troops 
hurrying  to  the  defense  of  Lexington  and  Concord.  Mr.  Hotchkiss  has  etched 
In  burning  words  a  story  of  Yankee  bravery  and  true  love  that  thrills  from 
beginning  to  end  with  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution.  The  heart  beats  quickly, 
and  we  feel  ourselves  taking  a  part  in  the  exciting  scenes  described.  You 
lay  the  book  aside  with  the  feeling  that  you  have  seen  a  gloriously  true 
picture  of  the  Revolution.  His  whole  story  is  so  absorbing  that  you  will  9** 
up  far  into  the  night  to  finish  it.  As  a  love  romance  it  is  charming. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBRAR^FACIUTY 
III  Illl  Mill  I  III  Illll  III! 


A     000130140     7 


